


you're the fire and the flood

by hereyeswerestars, layersofart (layersofsilence)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Scarlet Witch (Comic), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, M/M, Natasha Is a Good Bro, aka the time i tried to write 45k words in a month hwoops, but its not bromance, fantasy medieval lesbians au!, gay af, just read the gods-damned fic, thicc but like magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-04-05 07:03:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 45,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19043548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereyeswerestars/pseuds/hereyeswerestars, https://archiveofourown.org/users/layersofsilence/pseuds/layersofart
Summary: wow !! i seriously cannot believe we made it here . thanks for clicking on my fic , now buckle up bc i've got a few things to say lolfirst , i want to thank everyone involved in the captain america reverse bang !! the mods were amazing and extraordinarily helpful whether i was confused about how a reverse bang worked or panicking bc i needed a beta , they were always ready to help !my artist ,layersofsilencewho is so incredibly talented ! i was so honored to write a fic for their beatiful art :)i also want to thank my awesome betas ! i ended up w three which was such a blessing D:littlepieceofsaltycaramel(my best friend in real life wow!)vextant! who is such a gr8 cheerleader thanks bud !! and the amazingsonorousandloudfor all the v smart observations that helped me so much (like when i forgot that sokovia existed ha)





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> *continuing in the notes bc i still have things to say whoops* 
> 
> my three betas were all such blessings who treated the rough draft w so much love , even when it held gems like "We just have to (fancy plan of death)," Nat said, and "tired of me already?" Clint (word)ed . my dumb ass decided to pull a nanowrimo plus editing bc im a terrible procrastinator D: so , any mistakes are my own . 
> 
> i also want to shout out 4thewords for being an awesome resource / motivating me to write when i didn't want to lol . (if u check it out , my referral code is FEJUY86629 :)
> 
> this story is heavily inspired by the scarlet witch 2016 comic series written by james robinson , cover art by david aja . it was really fun to read through comics instead of writing aha
> 
> if u read through all this , ur a star ! i hope u enjoy this fic and please leave a comment if u do !!  
> [my tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/oscula-sucre)

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Concentrate, ‘Da. Focus yourself.”

 

The auburn-haired woman smiled down at her child, guiding the stubby fingers into witchlike shapes.

 

The five-year-old pouted as she twisted her fingers, brows furrowing. “I can’t do it,” she whined, throwing her hands down.

 

“Yes you can, little one. Focus your mind.” A gentle hand caressed the girl’s cheek and she sighed and lifted her hands again.

 

“Do it with me?”

 

“Always.”

 

The mother and daughter moved their hands in tandem, sparks flying from the queen’s fingertips. The child’s eyes widened and suddenly red sparks darted from her own hands.

 

“I did it!” she squealed, clapping her hands together and cutting off the sparks.

 

“Yes, you did. I’m so proud of you, Wanda.”

 

The girl’s mother swept her up into her arms, and the red-haired child buried her face against her mother’s chest and smiled contently. She was happy. She was safe.

 

✶      ✶      ✶

 

“Mother! I can’t find my red slippers!” Wanda shouted, rushing into the queen’s bedchambers. Her handmaidens rushed after her, frantically trying to cover the princess’s bare arms and legs.

 

“I don’t know where it is, ask Agatha—why are you running down the hall in only your shift?” the queen demanded, eyebrows raised.

 

Wanda finally stopped in the center of the bedroom, breathing hard from bolting down the palace halls. “My gown has a tear in it,” she said flatly. “And Agatha doesn’t know where my shoes are. They’re the only ones that go with my dress,” she groaned, ignoring the women trying to lace her into a corset so she was at least halfway decent.

 

“Wanda—” the queen started, tone so sharp one of the handmaidens jumped and dropped Wanda’s coat. Natalya cleared her throat and swept an elegant smile across her face. Wanda wished she could hide her emotions the way her mother did.

 

“Leave us, please.”

 

Wanda exhaled heavily as the servants dropped the corset—which fell in a messy heap at Wanda’s feet—and rushed from the room. The queen pursed her lips and tightened her copper bun (which was already perfect) with one hand, not a single amber lock out of place, whereas Wanda’s reddish-brown curls were _everywhere,_ and her bangs hadn’t recovered from the time Pietro decided it would be a good idea to give each other matching fringes.

 

“Mother, I—”

 

“I swear by the Goddess, Wanda, if you don’t start acting like a princess by your coronation I’ll—”

 

“You’ll name Pietro as king, I _know,_ Mother! You think I don’t want that? All Pietro wants to do is be with Vis and play in the fields. I’m the only one who can be queen.”

 

She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. Yes, she was standing before the queen regent (and her mother) in only her shift but she would at least act like a goddamned princess.

 

The queen sighed and squeezed the bridge of her nose. “Go get ready, ‘Da. I don’t have time for this.”

 

Wanda nodded jerkily and curtsied, then stalked out of the room, closing the chamber door before she started running.

 

Sparks flew from her fingertips, and if her handmaidens saw tears in her blue-green eyes, they were too afraid to comment.

 

 

✶      ✶      ✶

 

Crown Princess Wanda Elderia Maximoff, heir to the throne of Sokovia, stood beside her twin brother and scowled at him.

 

“I hate this. It’s only our thirteenth birthday. Why must mother throw this elaborate party and force us to stand here like painted statues?”

 

Pietro’s lips twitched and he nudged his sister with his velvet-clad elbow, fabric catching on her jeweled gown.

 

“Hey! It took ages for Agatha to find this dress, don’t you go tearing it up!” Wanda snapped, but her ire only lasted a moment. She was grateful for her brother and the distraction he provided, even if he got on her nerves.

 

“Mother’s looking away. Come on, let’s go to the garden!” Pietro grinned, grabbing Wanda’s hand and yanking her down the marble steps.

 

She shrieked and followed him, hoisting her skirts up with her free hand, heels slipping on the smooth stone.

With Pietro’s powers of speed and willingness to break the rules, she knew they were flying toward trouble—but tonight she didn’t care. It was their birthday, after all.

And she was tired of always chasing after Pietro. One day, he’d be the one chasing after _her_.

 

Wanda could feel the annoyed glare of her parents’ guests as they shoved through the crowd, but she couldn’t make herself care. So what if she annoyed her future lords and ladies? She didn’t care if no one liked her. She liked herself, and so did Pietro. And Vis—

 

“Hey guys!” Vision grinned, stepping in front of them out of nowhere. Pietro shrieked this time, hands jumping to his mouth, and Wanda rushed to her best friend and threw her arms around him.

 

“Why weren’t you at the party? Pietro was miserable,” Wanda chided, pulling back to frown at the blond boy.

 

He shrugged. “I don’t like crowds. Especially this one. They look at me weird.” Not many knew of the reason behind Vision’s name—he was a seer, and frequently had “attacks” of sorts in which he was trapped in a vision of the future for hours—but Vision had a strange air about him, and often muttered to himself, gesturing wildly, which had led to most of the nobles’ children (and the adults themselves) avoiding him.  

 

“You aren’t weird!” Pietro exclaimed, dark brows furrowing. “I’ll have Mother punish anyone who says so! Wanda can set them on fire and—”

 

“I will do no such thing!” Wanda exclaimed, and Pietro had the audacity to stick his tongue out at her. “Come on,” she sighed, stifling her desire to smack her twin. “Let’s go into the garden before the guards find us.”

 

She took her brother’s hand, then reached for Vision’s. But he shirked away, blue eyes uncharacteristically fearful.

 

“Something’s wrong,” he said.

 

And the palace behind them exploded.

 

Everyone always asked Wanda about that night. Advisors demanded to know if her powers had caused the explosion and the common people wondered how the crown princess coped with her parents’ fate.

 

The answer to both? She hadn’t.

 

After the serene night sky was split open with ear-wrenching explosions, there was dead silence for one heartbeat.

 

Wanda, her twin brother, and her best friend had been thrown to the ground. The newly thirteen-year-old girl peeled her face off the damp lawn and stared at the two boys who were her whole world. They stared back, terror she had never seen reflected in those blue orbs.

 

Then the screaming began.

 

One second, Wanda was laying in shock on the grassy lawn in front of the palace courtyard. The next, she was racing up the marble steps, dodging past frightened guards and over broken pillars.

 

Looking back, her mind had pushed away what she saw, trying to protect her fragile heart from knowing what had happened.

 

But she still saw it, and it would haunt her until she died: the banquet hall in ruins. Her knees collapsed from under her, sparks she couldn’t control flying from her fingers, her arms. She took no notice.

 

Fire raced up the ancient tapestries, devouring the family portraits. Guards, noblemen, guests—all dead.

 

And her parents—

 

“Move!” Someone shouted.

 

Wanda looked up to see a striking woman racing towards her, and before she could blink the stranger shoved her to the ground.

 

A second later, a marble pillar crashed onto the ground an inch from where Wanda had fallen.

 

She gasped, choking on the black smoke that filled her lungs and the hall. “Who—what,” she croaked, but the woman didn’t answer, only took Wanda’s hand.

“Come with me,” the copper-haired woman said, black hood falling to reveal otherworldly features.

 

“Mother?” Wanda whispered, staring at the woman.

 

The stranger’s brow furrowed and she opened her mouth to say something when Wanda gave a startled cry.

 

_“Mother!”_ she repeated, eyes fixing on a point just past the stranger’s shoulder and shoving past the mysterious woman dressed in black.

 

“Wait!”

 

Someone grabbed at Wanda’s arm but she flicked her wrists and sparks morphed into a red ball of light that flew from her fingertips. No one would stop her until she reached her mother.

 

The queen lay on her side on a heap of rubble, white gown scorched and blood dripping from her face.

 

“No, Mother,” Wanda breathed, falling at her mother’s side and ignoring the sharp burn as her knees struck the uneven ground.

 

Natalya coughed and tried to smile at her daughter. “I’m so proud of you, ‘Da. I wish we had more time.”

 

“No! I’ll save you—” Wanda tried to summon her magic, but it wouldn’t come. She growled in frustration, snapping her fingers together and swearing. But what good can mere sparks do when your mother was caught in an explosion?

 

“You already have, Da,” her mother murmured, tears mixing with the blood and ash on her cheeks. “Always.”

 

Natalya reached for Wanda’s face, wiping away the tears that slid down her pale cheeks. “I love you,” she breathed, and was gone.

 

Time stopped.

 

Wanda grabbed her mother’s hands, shaking them, shouting at her to wake up and come _back._

 

But her mother’s eyes just stared blankly up at her, hollow in a way no eyes should be. Someone touched her shoulder and she flinched, throwing herself over her mother’s body.

 

“Wanda,” Pietro begged, kneeling beside her. “We have to go.”

 

She just clung tighter. If she held tight enough, her mother would come back. She had to.


	2. witches and warriors

 

 

“Happy birthday, sister.” 

 

Wanda looked up, red lips curling into a smile as she took in her twin brother. “Same to you. Your hair looks good, did you wash it?”

 

Pietro scowled, holding up a small, ornately decorated box. “Do you not want your present?” 

 

Wanda pouted. “Of  _ course  _ I want it. Switch?” 

 

She held out a large, dark leather bag that jingled suspiciously. He held out the box, and they closed their eyes and fumbled for the gifts, laughing. 

 

The “switch” was a tradition from their childhood, when Wanda and Pietro had argued over presents and their mother, tired of their antics, made them close their eyes and pick a present, and that was their gift and the end of the whining. 

 

Once they both held their gifts, Wanda opened her eyes, looking down at the beautifully jeweled box in her hands. 

 

“Open it,” Pietro urged, and she bit her lip and opened the box. 

 

“Oh,” Wanda murmured, lifting up a layer of scarlet fabric to behold a coin-sized pendant with two dragons intertwined, three stars above them. The Maximoff royal crest. 

 

Wanda blinked hard as tears prickled in her eyes. “Where did you find this?” she asked, voice cracking with emotion. 

 

“Vision did,” Pietro said softly, tears shining in his eyes, too. “He was helping with the renovations on the great hall and found it beneath a tile piece.”

 

“It’s been there for five years,” she murmured, fingers hovering above the silver, but afraid to touch it. Memories swirled in her head and she tightened her hold on the box, refusing to let the smell of blood and ash and death overwhelm her— _ it’s not real _ , she told herself, forcing herself back to the present, where Pietro was nodding.

 

“He found it a few days ago—otherwise I would have given you a new dress or something—” Wanda barked out a laugh at that, and he wrinkled his nose at her. “Anyways, Vision gave it to me and I had a silversmith shine it up a bit, replace the chain, and good as new!”

 

_ Good as new.  _ Wanda finally touched the necklace her mother had been wearing the day assassins had attempted to take her life, pressing her lips together to keep from sobbing. 

 

“Pietro, I—” 

 

“I know,” he said, touching her elbow. “I miss them too.”

 

_ They are coming back,  _ she wanted to say, but didn’t want to get into an argument today, so she gestured to the large leather bag in his hand. 

 

“Your turn.”

 

He smiled wryly and loosened the ties on the bag, eyes widening as he pulled out straps of black leather, a metal bar gleaming. “Is this…” he looked up at her, excitement sparkling there. 

 

“He’s in the stable,” Wanda said, not able to keep the smile off her face at the joy in her brother’s eyes. 

 

He winked at her, and before she could say another word he vanished, bridle in hand. 

 

She sighed, picking up the bag he left in the dust. 

 

Pietro loved using his powers—especially when she declared her dislike of magic. But no matter; she’d get to the stables the normal, human way. Yes, she could snap her fingers and the windows would fly open and she’d leap out, landing in the gardens in a swirl of scarlet without a scratch on her. 

 

But magic wasn’t to be messed with. Especially not hers, and especially not after the events of five years ago.

 

So she walked out the room and down the hall, ignoring the servants she passed, and their frightened glances. 

 

They called her the witch-queen. Gods, if only they knew. 

 

✶      ✶      ✶

 

“What’s his name?” Vision asked, leaning against the gelding’s stall, blonde hair falling across his forehead. 

 

Pietro tore his eyes from Vision’s hair, hand itching to brush it off his face, and lifted his fingers to the horse’s nose instead. 

 

He sniffed cautiously, big black eyes gazing at Pietro. 

 

“I haven’t decided,” he said, slowly lifting his hand to rest against the creature’s forelock. He blinked, shifting beneath Pietro’s hand but staying calm. 

 

“Quicksilver,” his twin said in the silence. 

 

He whirled around, Vision stepping forward—- _ protectively?  _ Wanda wondered. But there were scarier things than her in this world—and she’d be the one protecting Pietro. 

 

“Thank you for him, ‘Da,” he said, small smile lifting his lips. 

 

“You’re welcome.” she nodded to the both of them and left the stable. 

 

✶      ✶      ✶

 

Wanda squinted against the sunlight reflecting off armor and swords as knights clashed in the field below her. 

 

“See anyone you like?” one of the nobles rich enough to be sitting near her asked. She kept her eyes on the fight below, fingers twitching as the red knight slammed their sword into the white knight’s helmet. 

 

The white knight went down, and Wanda applauded with the rest of the crowds. “That one,” she said, nodding to the red knight, who raised their sword in victory. 

 

The noise and smell was starting to get to her, and she rubbed at her eyes, forgetting she had cosmetics on. 

 

“Shit.” She glared at her black-smudged fingers with disgust. 

 

“Would you like some water, Majesty?” 

 

Wanda turned to see a young maidservant smiling at her, holding a pitcher of water with trembling arms. 

 

“Yes, thank you.” 

 

The girl handed her a cup of cool water and Wanda downed it in half a second, gesturing for another. 

 

“Pietro, don’t,” Vision said suddenly, voice cutting through the noise of the nobles and crowds on the stands, and Wanda looked down to the front seats of her box, where Pietro was standing up, red-faced. 

 

Wanda handed her cup to the maidservant and stood, stepping towards her brother. “Pietro, what—” 

 

“I’m going to fight them,” he announced, swaying slightly. Vision caught her eye and grimaced. 

 

“Pietro, sit down,” she said, glaring at sweaty nobles until they moved out of the way. 

 

_ Gods,  _ why did her birthday have to fall in the heat of summer? (She didn’t’ give a damn about the “special” day. But she was hoping someone in particular would show, and so Wanda had invited all the knights in the land to Sokovia for the honor of competing for the title of Queen’s Champion. No matter that if she didn’t get the person she wanted, she wouldn’t have anyone.)

 

Wanda had nearly reached Pietro when her twin winked at her, stumbled to the stairs at the front of the box, and disappeared. 

 

She swore and rushed to Vision’s side. “What is he doing?”

 

Vision pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling heavily. “Being himself. He seems to feel like he has something to prove.” 

 

She looked to the field, where the white and red knights shook hands. The white knight stumbled to the healers’ tent, and the red knight slammed their sword against their shield, to thunderous applause. 

 

Someone threw a flower to the knight, and Wanda watched as it fell. She had the strangest feeling that time stopped, and she could only watch as the knight caught the flower and brought it to their chest—which bore the sigil of a great spider. 

 

Wanda blinked, and then Pietro was on the field, slamming into the red knight. The knight fell to the ground, and Pietro bellowed, “I challenge you!”

 

The knight leapt to their feet, faster than humanly possible, and charged. The people in the stands were on their feet, gaping at the prince who’d raced onto the field, and Wanda clenched her fists until her nails cut into her palms. 

 

Pietro dodged the red knight’s attack— _ he  _ was fast as light, but foolish as he was wasn’t wearing  _ any  _ armor—and snatched the knight’s shield. 

 

“Grab the sword, you idiot,” Vision groaned, and Wanda looked over to see the blonde covering his eyes with his hands. 

 

“You might as well watch your boyfriend get his ass kicked,” Wanda snorted, pulling Vision’s hands down. 

 

He sputtered, gaping at her. “He isn’t my—” 

 

The crowd groaned, and Wanda whipped to face the field. 

 

Pietro had fallen on his back, and lay there as the knight advanced on him. 

 

“Get up,” Wanda urged, green eyes fixed on her twin. “You bastard, get  _ up.”  _

 

As if he had heard his sister, Pietro stumbled to his feet, clutching his side. 

 

A twinge of fear shot through Wanda. Pietro beat anyone he ever fought—so far. (Including her, if she wasn’t using her magic.) 

 

But this knight had beaten the last three challengers, and didn’t seem to be getting tired. 

 

They swung at Pietro, and he dodged again, using his powers to race around the knight, who apparently had other plans.

 

They surged forwards, slamming into Pietro’s chest and knocking him to the ground, sword at his throat.  

 

“Get up,” Wanda growled, squeezing something soft. She looked down and realized she grasped Vision’s hand. She tried to let go, but he squeezed back, and at his sigh of relief she looked back to the field. 

 

Pietro had hit the ground three times, the sign of yielding, and the knight sheathed their sword, offering him a hand up. 

 

He took it, and they shook hands, Pietro grinning despite the beating he’d endured. 

Then the knight took off their helmet, and Wanda’s world stopped again. 

 

It was  _ her _ . The woman who’d saved her life, all those years ago. 

 

Wanda was halfway down the stairs of the Queen’s box before she’d even realized she was moving. 

 

Vision called to her, shouting something about the next match and how she had to bless it, but she ignored him. 

 

This was it—she’d never admit it, but the whole masquerade, the whole production was for her. 

 

For the hope that she’d see her savior once more. 

 

She was in front of the knight and her brother in seconds, smoothing the violet skirt of her dress. She didn’t know what to say, so she just stared at the woman, breath suddenly escaping her.

Pietro backed away slowly, sensing the approaching intimate moment, but Wanda held up a hand. 

 

“We’re having words as soon as I’m finished, brother,” she said, giving her brother a pointed look.

 

Pietro just scowled at her and vanished—hopefully to the healer’s tent. Fighting had drained him more than he let on, but Wanda could see past his mask. She was his sister, after all. 

 

“Little one,” the knight said, and Wanda’s eyes snapped to her face. 

 

The queen didn’t even know what to say, just drank in the details of the stunning woman before her.  _ Was she even human?  _ She ignored that thought, studying the knight’s now scarlet hair, matted to her forehead with sweat. Maybe Wanda needed something a little inhuman in her life. 

“Your hair is different,” she blurted out after a long moment, and immediately felt her cheeks warming. “It—it looked like mine, that night,” she explained, and her mind twists back five years ago. 

 

The knight cuts off her dark thoughts with a laugh. “What, an immortal isn’t allowed to change her hair every few years?” 

 

Wanda snorted. 

 

They studied each other for a moment. Wanda noticed the spider insignia on her shield, was about to ask about it when trumpets blared, announcing the next event. 

 

“Shit. I’m supposed to be in this one,” Wanda said, looking from Natasha to the handlers bringing half a dozen horses onto the field. 

 

The woman before her raised a brow. “What is it, exactly?” she asked. 

 

Wanda grinned. “You’ll see. Be my luck?” She held out her hand and couldn’t hold back the tiny gasp that escaped her mouth as the knight’s lips brush against her knuckles. 

 

“Go, little one,” she smiled, and Wanda smiled back and turned away, heart beating so loud the whole world could hear—should hear and rejoice. 

 

She’d found her champion. 

 

Now it was time to celebrate. 

 

✶      ✶      ✶

 

Wanda ducked into her tent, grimacing at the wave of heat. A young woman waited for her, embroidering on a wooden stool, and she stood as the queen entered, curtseying hastily.

 

Gods, she missed Agatha. She had been the handmaiden ready for anything—but she had been killed in the explosion that had sent Wanda’s parents halfway across the world.

 

The woman in front of her wobbled, still holding her curtsey, and Wanda shook the dark cobwebs from her mind like gossamer, trying to arrange her expression into a smile.

 

“No need for that,” she insisted, pushing her sweaty hair back from her brow. “Can you make me look presentable in ten minutes?” 

 

“I can do it in five,” the woman said, a small smile on her lips. 

 

So Wanda met her challengers out on the field, head held high. The handmaiden had helped her into comfortable, light riding clothes and pulled her hair back into a complex braid. She’d washed off the cosmetics, tired of the sticky feeling on her face. 

 

Wanda stopped in front of the small group of knights, many of them also changed out of armor and into riding leathers. The horses and their handlers were on her left, and she smiled at them. 

 

Pietro came to her side, nudging her with his elbow, and she smirked at him and began. 

 

“Welcome, knights, and thank you for fighting so well today. You honor your queen.” 

 

A few knights smiled, or nodded, and she continued, still scanning the crowd for one knight in particular. 

 

She didn’t appear, and Wanda continued on, masking her disappointment with a smile. 

 

“We all know the rules—no harming your fellow knights, opponents they may be. They are still allies. Treat your horse well, or my brother will have your throat.” 

 

 

A few of the challengers laughed at that, but Pietro’s eyes darkened, and Wanda remembered with a shudder the last knight who had dared to mistreat his horse in front of her animal-loving brother. 

 

“The prize is in the forest: a dagger named Verity. Anyone in its presence is compelled to speak the truth.” 

 

Her audience murmured excitedly, a few turning to the horses. Wanda held up a hand. “It isn’t that easy, challengers. I have given the dagger to a river naiad. She loves the gift, and guards it jealously. You have one hour to find her, persuade her to give up the dagger, and bring it back to me. After that, we’ll celebrate!” 

 

A few shouted cheers, and she dipped her head, lips curling up. Gods, if she smiled any more her lips would go numb. 

 

But today was a wonderful day, and she deserved to smile. 

 

“One last thing, my comrades. As it is our birthday today, Pietro and I will be competing with you.” Startled murmurs stirred the crowd, but Wanda ignored the shocked and even fearful looks to gesture to the horses. “May the best rider win.” 

 

Everyone rushed to the potential steeds, and Pietro used his powers to snatch his and Wanda’s horses. 

 

None of the horses and knights had met before, and Wanda didn’t want an unfair advantage, so she hadn’t let Pietro bring Quicksilver. 

 

The knights looked to their queen, who smiled at them astride a white stallion. “The hour begins!” she cried, urging her horse into a gallop. 

 

They raced for the forest, warriors surging in their saddles, aiming for the forest a hundred yards away. 

 

Wanda laughed with the thrill of it, her world narrowing to this single moment in time—the wind whipping her hair out of her coppery-orange braid, the swift horse like a bolt of lightning beneath her—the glory of the chase. 

 

In seconds, she was within the forest, the rapid change from scorching sunlight to green-filtered shadow blinding her. 

 

Horses thundered past, bridles jingling, and she could taste the elation of her competitors in the clean forest air. 

 

_ A day for magic,  _ her mind whispered. 

 

“Hell no,” she said, kicking her horse into action. The stallion leapt ahead, and in seconds the other knights were far behind. 

 

Fifteen minutes later, they walked across a creek she’s sure they’ve passed before. Her horse kept trying to eat the ripe berries on either side of the trail, and she nudged him into a trot. “You can eat once we win,” she said.

 

Wanda hadn’t seen any of the knights since leaving the trail, and her grip tightened on the reins as she swore under her breath. 

 

Her steed seemed to sense her agitation, because he turned his head to look back at her. 

 

She sighed, patting his neck, and frowns at the trees surrounding them. “If the prize could reveal herself, that would be nice,” she muttered. 

 

“I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way, sister,” her brother said, appearing from the shadows before her. 

 

“Have you found her?” she demanded, nudging her stallion forwards until their horses were practically touching noses. 

 

“Not yet,” he sighed, shrugging. “Honestly, I’m just here to watch you win.” He winked at her, and she smiled. 

 

But concern tugged at her heart, and she knew her words might upset him but she said them anyways. “Pietro, about earlier—” 

 

“Don’t heckle me about my defeat, Vis did it enough,” he said, words harsher than he meant them to be. 

 

She frowns. “I’m not trying to heckle you. But we have responsibilities now. What would mother say, if she were here?” 

 

Pietro looked at her then, eyes cold. “She can’t say anything because she’s  _ dead _ ,” he said, voice dangerously quiet.

 

She was moving before her mind registered the action, a vicious wave rising in her that shouted  _ kill kill kill.  _

 

She pulled back, eyes wide at the voice, the power she’d thought she locked away, but her hand was already moving, palm cracking against Pietro’s cheek.

 

Her stallion paced under her, sensing the tension, and Wanda backed him away, body turning cold. “Pietro, I—”

 

“Hurt me like you mean it. Or don’t even bother.” 

 

He whipped his horse around, and she called after him, voice heavy with emotions she didn’t want to name. 

 

“I’m sorry, Pietro! Please—” 

 

“Use your magic, you  _ coward _ ,” he hissed, yanking his horse around to face her with a viciousness he would never treat an animal with. 

 

But his eyes were dark as daggers, and they were aimed straight at her heart. 

 

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I can’t.” 

 

“Then don’t call yourself a queen.” He turned to leave again, and Wanda let him go. 

 

 

She stared at the ancient tree beside her for a long time, noting its curling bark, the purple-green leaves that tapered into points. 

 

She wouldn’t think about her brother. Or her mother—or anything at all. 

 

She was ready to wallow in misery for the rest of the day, hiding from everyone until she mustered up the courage to crawl back to Pietro and beg for forgiveness, when she heard hoofbeats.

 

She turned, relief lightening every inch of her because her brother was back, he didn’t mean those words—

 

“So I heard you don’t like magic,” her red knight drawled, and Wanda stared at her. 

 

The woman sat astride a blue roan with flowers in its mane—the only thing more beautiful than it is its rider, who had changed out of dirty armor to red and black riding leathers.

 

“It’s a long story,” Wanda said, rubbing the back of her neck. 

 

“Ready to find this prize?” 

 

Wanda squinted at the woman before her. “I didn’t know you were playing.” 

 

She grinned at the queen. “I am now.” 

 

✶      ✶      ✶

 

Riding with the red knight was strange. 

 

She’d dreamed of this day for years—all the things she wanted to say to her savior, all the questions never answered. 

 

But now? Her tongue was heavy, her throat dry, and she just wanted to stare at the woman riding ahead of her. But there was one question she had to know the answer to.

 

“What’s your name?” 

 

The woman looked back at her, smile turning the whole forest radiant. “Natasha.” 

 

Wanda’s heart skipped a beat, but she ignored the traitorous organ, nudging Mariki into a trot so she and Natasha were side-by-side. 

 

“Natasha,” Wanda said slowly, tasting the word. It fit the woman beside her perfectly—mysterious and beautiful with a hint of strange sadness.  _ Stop being dramatic,  _ one of the ever-present voices said. It sounded like Pietro.

 

Natasha looked at her, expectant, and Wanda smiled nervously, shoving her asshole of a brother far from her thoughts. 

 

“Um,” Wanda began, blinking at her loss of words. 

 

“What is it, little one?” Natasha asked, slowing her mount to a stop, bright eyes never leaving Wanda’s. The queen never allowed nobles to call her pet names, not even Pietro. They felt too intimate, too similar to how her mother would address her. But from Natasha’s lips, they sounded kind, filling a hole in Wanda’s heart that she hadn’t realized even existed. 

 

The words give Wanda the strength to blurt, “Will you be my Champion?” 

 

Now Natasha was the one blinking at Wanda, seemingly lost for words. “What?” 

 

“Be my Champion,” Wanda said, and now there was boldness in her voice, assurance. “My hand, my protector. You’ve proven yourself plenty.”  _ And I’ve been looking for you since the day you walked out of my life,  _ she didn’t add.

 

Natasha huffed a laugh, looking down at herself. “You haven’t even seen all the contestants yet.” 

 

“I want you,” Wanda insisted, clasping her hands together to keep them from trembling. Gods damn it, why had this woman affected her so? 

 

“Okay,” the red knight said, reaching across the few inches between their horses to touch Wanda’s hand. 

 

“Really?” Wanda stared at Natasha’s gloved hand, the dark leather warm against her skin.

“Your wish is my command, Majesty.” 

 

Wanda’s face split into the brightest smile the kingdom had seen in the last five years, and she nearly slid from her saddle to threw her arms around Natasha, breathing shakily. 

 

“Thank you. You won’t regret it, I promise,” Wanda said, clinging to Natasha, their horses stilling to keep their riders in their saddles.

 

_ Natasha _ .

 

She’d found her savior. 

 

If only she could find herself. 

 

✶      ✶      ✶

 

The two flame-haired women made it back to the palace just as their hour finished, Pietro and the other competitors already surrounding a man in riding leathers similar to Natasha’s. He held a long dagger in one hand, sheath encrusted with jewels. 

 

“Sam, you old bastard,” Natasha cried, dismounting and rushing to hug the grinning victor. He held her tightly, smiling from ear-to-ear. 

 

Wanda watched, her own smile bright. Her people were happy. Her country was safe. And her parents were coming home, soon.  _ Were they? _

“Yes,” she said firmly, and the winner—Sam—looked up at her, smile shifting to a more solemn expression. 

 

“Your Majesty,” he said, bowing to her.

 

“Please, don’t,” Wanda said, dismounting and walking to him. (Okay, so maybe she did enjoy the ceremonials a little. But she’d never admit it.) “Congratulations on your victory. Will you eat with us?” 

 

Sam glanced to Natasha, who smiled. “There’s a celebration in the great hall for all competitors. I’ve heard the Maximoff house has the best venison in the kingdom.”

 

Wanda nodded solemnly. “Oh yes, I catch it myself.” 

 

Pietro laughed, and she grinned at him, hoping they were reconciled. But his laughter died the moment their eyes met, and he turned away, muttering darkly to Vision. 

 

Wanda sighed, but immediately forced a smile to her face. “Let’s eat. I could eat a horse, and I don’t even eat meat.” 

 

The knights around her laughed, and she handed her steed to a stable hand, giving the horse a gentle pat on the rump. “Give him extra sugar, he deserves it,” she told the boy, who nodded, smiling toothily and leaping into the saddle. She watched as he urged the horse to the palace grounds, then turned to Natasha. 

 

“Shall we?” 

 

Her Champion—gods, how her heart glowed at that word—grinned, pulling off her riding gloves. “Please, before Sam faints of hunger.” 

 

Sam elbowed her, and Wanda laughed at their interaction. 

 

She wished she had friends like that. Yes, she had Pietro—when they weren’t fighting. And she used to have Vision, before he and Pietro gave their hearts to each other. 

 

Natasha noticed her sad silence and nudged her as they walked to the palace. “So you don’t eat meat?” 

 

Wanda shook her head. “I haven’t since I was a child. My mother doesn’t eat it, so neither do I.” 

 

 

She noticed the atmosphere change as the knights around her tensed at the reference to her mother. 

 

Her  _ living _ mother.

 

She didn’t know why Pietro insisted their parents had died that fatal night so many years ago—they were alive, somewhere across the sea hunting down the villains who had attacked their home. 

 

Natalya and Boaz would be back. They just needed time, and Wanda had plenty of it.

 

Natasha hummed, back of her hand brushing Wanda’s as they walked. The touch startled Wanda from her troubled thoughts. 

 

Everyone relaxed as Sam jumped into the story of how he’d impressed the naiad with his incredible strength, and Wanda relaxed too, focusing on the grinning man’s tale and Natasha’s unwavering presence beside her.

 

Once they reached the palace, Wanda led her little group, which had grown into quite a large one, as other contestants and spectators followed the crowd to food. 

 

Wanda sat at the high table, Natasha on her left and her visier, an old man who looked hours from his grave on her right. She listened to the chatter of her guests as servants brought out steaming bowls of stew and plates piled high with vegetables and fresh bread. 

 

Her mouth watered at the sight, but her gaze kept drifting to the seat across from hers, where Pietro should be sitting. 

 

“So, what did you think of the challengers today?” Natasha asked, ripping apart the bread in her hands. 

 

Wanda turned to look at her champion, leaning back in her chair. She had been famished after their romp through the forest, but now she just wanted to sleep. She stared at Natasha’s fingers as she popped a piece of the crust into her mouth. 

 

“Wanda?” Nat’s eyes met hers, and they were omniscient.

 

The queen blushed. “I—” 

 

Someone in the hall screamed, and Wanda jumped. Natasha leapt to her feet, knives in both hands. 

 

Then something sharp pricked the queen’s neck, and she knew no more. 


	3. my moonlit majesty

 

Wanda woke slowly, head throbbing. 

 

Something was poking her back, and she groaned and turned onto her side, squeezing her eyes shut against the morning sun. 

 

“Five more minutes, brother,” she grumbled, covering her eyes with the crook of her elbow.

 

Someone laughed, and it definitely was not her twin. 

 

Wanda bolted upright, ignoring the screeching pain in her head as she took in the surroundings that were most definitely not her bedchambers. 

 

A beautiful woman sat before her, whittling a stick nearly as tall as her, and Wanda scrambled to her feet, grabbing at a tree behind her for support. 

 

A tree? She was in a forest—and it wasn’t hers. This one was darker, the trees not young but ancient and gnarled.

She could smell the decay, the age of the place. And she didn’t like it.

 

“Where am I,” she croaked, staring at the woman. And it started to fall into place—the competitors, running at each other with swords raised, her foolish brother racing onto the field,  _ Natasha _ —

 

“You’re in the Virie forest, half a day’s ride from the southern Sokovian border. We’re heading to Vongasta, the rulers are friends of mine. Your home was attacked… again.” 

 

There was sorrow in Natasha’s eyes, and Wanda slid to her knees, staring at the woman. 

 

“What?” 

 

Natasha set down the stick she’d been working on, bracing her elbows on her knees. “Those assassins, from five years ago? They attacked again. They tried to take you and the prince. They failed.” 

 

Something dark flashed in Natasha’s eyes, but Wanda didn’t have time to analyze it. 

 

“Pietro,” she demanded, struggling to her feet again. 

 

Natasha stood, moving to help her, but Wanda shook her head. “I’m fine. Where is my brother?” 

 

“He’s safe. He’s with Sam, they’re on their way to Angloterra, its empress has offered sanctuary.”

 

“Why am I not with him?” Wanda said, near-shouting, and Natasha held up her hands placatingly, trying to calm Wanda like she was a frightened animal. 

 

But she was no beast—just a woman who had to find her brother.

 

“Because you’re the target, Wanda,” Natasha said, and despite everything Wanda realized it was the first time Natasha said her name and the thought sent chills through her. 

 

But then Natasha’s words sink in, and her blood turned to ice.

 

“What do you mean,” she breathed. Her parents were supposed to end the assassins; how could this terrible group still be tormenting her?

 

But Natasha shook her head. “I’ll tell you later. For now, we have to move.” 

 

She looked up at the sky, a single ray of sunlight hitting the mat where Wanda had slept like a sign. “I’m not going anywhere,” Wanda said stubbornly, planting her feet, even as she trembled, her head pounding so hard she felt like vomiting. 

 

“If we don’t get the rest of the poison out of you, you’ll die here. Is that what Pietro would want?” 

 

Wanda bit her lip, fighting to focus. Everything was going blurry, Nat’s hair glowing like it was on fire. 

 

Nat. She liked the nickname.

“Pietro hates me,” Wanda murmured, leaning against the tree who was now her friend. “Hello, tree.” 

 

Natasha swore. “Come on, majesty.” She pulled Wanda to her feet, the queen struggling against her. But Wanda’s whole body had turned to wood, and she could barely use her throat to murmur, “Please.”

 

Nat looked at her then, stopping in front of their horses. Wanda smiled when she realized her white stallion from earlier was one of them. 

 

“You’ll find my brother?” Wanda asked, chin dropping to her chest.

 

Her head was just so heavy. 

 

So full of lies. 

 

“Yes, Wanda. I promise we will,” Natasha said, lifting Wanda into the saddle, but the queen had already fallen asleep.  

 

✶      ✶      ✶

 

“Catch me if you can!” Pietro shrieked, slipping down the marble staircase. 

 

Wanda followed close behind, traditional Sokovian gown streaming behind her. “Slow down!” she shouted, but her brother didn’t listen. He never did. 

 

The twins ran into the royal garden, Pietro skidding to a stop in front of the glass fountain. 

 

“I dare you to turn it on,” Pietro grinned, mischief in his sea-gray eyes. 

 

Wanda frowned at him. “Mother says they can’t turn it on. They’re saving it for something special.” She looked up at the statue that rose from the basin, Sarah. She was the first ruler of Sokovia, and she was perfect. 

 

Wanda hoped she could be as good as her when she became queen.

 

Pietro snorted, nudging her with a skinned elbow. “There’s a secret, I can smell it.” he stuck his tongue out, licking at the air, and Wanda laughed. “Doesn’t water make your powers stronger, anyway?” he asked, gleam in his bright eyes. 

 

“No, Pietro,” Wanda said firmly, shaking her head. “I don’t want to get in trouble.” 

 

He shrugged. “Fine. I’ll do it without you.” He grabbed the edge of the fountain’s basin and hauled himself over it, scrambling for purchase against the smooth glass.

 

The fountain was empty but spotless, no mold or ivy growing at the bottom. Pietro sat there for a moment, beaming at his own ingenuity before standing, patting Sarah’s calf. “I’m going to touch her crown!” 

 

“Pietro, no!” Wanda cried, pulling herself over the basin, but Pietro was already clinging to the statue’s chest, victory in his eyes. “You aren’t supposed to use your powers when Mother isn’t here!” 

 

“I don’t need her!” he replied, letting go of Sarah to tap her crown. 

 

Her brother fell in slow motion, and Wanda felt terror for the first time in her short seven years of life. 

 

She screamed, but could only watch in horror as Pietro crumpled into the fountain’s basin, head slamming against the glass. 

 

She rushed to his side, calling his name. 

 

He didn’t respond, and blood trickled from his silver-white hair, dripping down his face. 

 

“Wanda!” 

 

She whirled to see her parents rushing across the garden, her mother’s hands sparking with power. 

 

She cried for them, running into Natalya’s arms. 

 

“What have you done?” her father thundered, dark eyes blazing. 

 

She flinched away from his lightning-sharp gaze, tears streaming down her cheeks. 

 

“He just fell, he won’t wake up, Mama!” 

 

Her mother gently pulled Wanda away from her side and knelt by the fountain, touching Pietro’s chest, concern in her eyes. 

 

But she never shouted or raised a fist. Her mother was a queen, and no consort of a husband could ever match her in power—mental or mythical. 

 

“You may have immortality, Wanda, but he does not,” her father said coldly. 

 

Wanda froze. “What?” 

 

Natalya turned from Pietro, and she was angrier than the child had ever seen her. 

 

“Boaz! This is  _ not  _ the time.” She pressed shaking hands to Pietro’s brow, glaring at her husband. “I was waiting until they were older.”

 

The queen’s consort crossed his arms, looking down at Wanda. “She needs to know at some point. They won’t be children forever.” 

 

“But they are children now!” the queen’s voice rose, then Pietro drew breath and Wanda rushed to his side. 

 

“Are you alright?” she demanded, grabbing his hand. 

 

He batted her away, squinting at her. “Did I make it to the top?” 

 

Wanda let out a choked laugh. “Yes, brother. Every time.”

He frowned, and Natalya rubbed her back gently, but there was a warning in her eyes. 

 

Wanda just smiled at her mother.  _ There’s a secret, I can smell it.  _

 

The crown princess was good at keeping secrets.

 

✶      ✶      ✶

 

Wanda awoke from her dream groggily, lifting a hand to rub at her sleep-crusted eyes. 

 

Already, her parents’ faces were fading from memory. She remembered that she has her mother’s eyes and how her father had a thick, dark beard, but was he taller than Natalya? Did her mother have any scars?

 

She opened her eyes, ready to leap out of bed and ask her mother herself, but staring back at her is no palace bedchamber but Natasha, eyes narrowed. 

 

“You were dreaming. I wasn’t sure if it was pleasant or not, but your fever hasn’t broken yet.” 

 

Wanda looked around, memories crashing back. They were in a forest, but this one was different, more like  _ hers.  _ The light was golden, the trees young and sweet-smelling, and birds sang brightly to each other. 

 

“I dreamed of my parents,” Wanda croaked, voice scratchy—why? She coughed, and groaned. 

 

“What’s wrong with me? Wait, don’t answer that.” 

 

She leaned back against the tree Natasha had propped her up against, gasping as pain lanced down her spine. 

 

“The assassins poisoned you, in their attack on the castle. I was hoping it was just some sleeping concoction but it appears to be something worse. If we don’t make it to the blue palace by nightfall, I worry Sokovia won’t have a queen.”

 

_ “You cannot die unless you are killed.”  _ Her father’s words rang in her head. Her parents had had a long talk with her, after the fiasco at Sarah’s fountain _.  _

 

She was immortal. Seven year-old Wanda had not understood Boaz. Weren’t dying and being killed the same thing? 

 

But now she looked at Natasha, heart beating too slowly, and understood what the queen’s consort had been trying to say. 

 

“Find the bittersweet plant,” she rasped, swallowing against the dryness against her throat. 

 

Nat frowned at her. “You know an antidote?” 

 

“If we’re lucky,” she said. “It’s a purple flower with five petals. Yellow in the center. Wear gloves when you touch it, it’s quite poisonous.” Wanda coughed again, wiping at her streaming nose. “It should help. You’ll find it by rocks, near running water.”

Her champion stood, handing her a dagger from a hidden sheath in her boot. Wanda took it, neglecting to mention she had plenty of her own knives, and smiled weakly. 

 

“You sure you’ll be alright?” Natasha asked, pulling on her black riding gloves.

 

Wanda nodded, yawning. But she couldn’t fall asleep now. “If anyone comes along, I’ll scare them away with my deep and mysterious knowledge of poisonous plants.” 

 

Natasha snorted. “Why am I finding a  _ poisonous  _ plant?”

 

Wanda shook her head, wincing as the motion made the world tilt. “Trust me.” Then she passed out, a trickle of dark liquid trailing from her parted lips. 

 

Natasha swore and rushed to their horses, pulling the queen’s steed to Wanda’s side and ordering him to stand watch. Then she mounted her own mare, Widow, kicking her into a gallop. 

 

She could only pray to whatever gods listened that she could save her queen. 

 

Natasha returned to their camp half an hour later, purple flowers clutched in a gloved fist. The queen was still asleep, the stallion snuffling at her ginger hair. 

“She’ll be fine,” Nat said, cautiously dismounting from Widow and making sure not to touch her steed with the plant. 

 

She hoped Wanda had a plan, because all she could do now was pray. And she didn’t pray. 

 

✶      ✶      ✶

 

“Wanda. Wake up, I found the flower.” 

 

The queen grimaced, opening her eyes to stare at Natasha for a beat before grinning. 

 

Nat fought the urge to wipe the blood leaking from her queen’s lips. “I found it,” she repeated.

 

“Great,” Wanda said, grinning. Gods, now her teeth were bloodstained—and Nat did not find that attractive.  _ Not  _ at all. She looked down, jerking her chin at the flowers in her hand. 

 

“Boil the flowers in water, put the stalks and leaves to the side. I’ll make those into a paste.” 

Nat nodded, setting the flowers on a smooth stone beside the fire pit. She hadn’t wanted to start any fires on their journey, but the nights had been cold for spring in the south, and she wasn’t so heartless to ignore her queen’s shivers—especially with the fever she was running. 

 

She started the fire, and now that she was finally doing something with her hands that would help her queen she let her mind wander. 

 

She wondered how Sam was doing, whether Pietro was giving him as much trouble as the queen gave her. 

 

She wondered if the boy’s lover had survived; the seer had been critically wounded by an assassin while she’d escaped with Wanda. 

 

“Do you even have a pot?” Wanda asked from her spot by the tree (the queen seemed to share a special bond with leafy things). 

 

Nat smirked at her. “What, you think I embarked on a quest halfway across the kingdom with no cooking supplies?” 

 

She rummaged through their saddlebags and pulled out a small, battered copper pot and matching lid. “I always come prepared.”

 

“Of course,” Wanda smiled. She was struggling to peel the flower stalks—she didn’t even have gloves on, Nat noticed with a start— but Wanda shot her a glare and Nat knew the queen would smite her if she offered help. 

 

So she sat on her haunches, waiting for the water (again from her trusty saddlebag) to boil. “How does the queen of Sokovia know so much about poisonous plants?” 

 

When Nat looked over, the queen was grinning. “I decided to go the non-magical witch route, after… everything. I won’t use my powers, but I still have to protect myself. And plants have always fascinated me.” 

 

She patted the tree supporting her. “They care. More than humans do, sometimes.” 

 

“You sound like a friend of mine,” Natasha smiled, Wanda’s words taking her back to another time. 

 

She shook her head of the memories, looking across the fire to see a fond expression on Wanda’s face. 

“You’re a wonderful champion—you know that, right?”

 

Nat ducked her chin.  _ Don’t get attached to your charge. It’ll only make the job harder.  _

“I disagree. But thank you.” She dropped the purple flowers into the now-boiling water, watching as their petals unfurled.

 

Wanda cracked a smile, setting the bittersweet aside. “You better prepare for more compliments, because this plant is also used to make truth serum, so if I start telling you about my past, just ignore me.” Although she had been acting strange since she woke up—hopefully her champion would just ignore any rambling or love confessions. 

 

Nat snorted, as if hearing her thoughts. “We’ll have plenty of time for reminiscing on the road. Now drink your medicine.” She poured the “tea” into a mug she’d fished out of Wanda’s saddlebag that Natasha bribed a frightened stableboy to pack. 

 

Wanda wrinkled her nose but obeyed, gagging at the taste. “Gods, what a birthday. Only compares in shittiness to the  _ last  _ time the palace was attacked.” 

 

“You wanna talk about that?” 

 

Wanda scowled, not wanting the bittersweet to loosen her tongue to the point where she gave up her life story to the first pretty knight who made her an antidote. “No.” 

 

Nat nodded, pulling out supplies to make her own tea, and Wanda sighed. “Pietro says they’re dead. But I can’t believe him—I  _ know _ they’re alive. I just know. All my memories, after that night, are of them packing to Selenia, going to track down the assassins. Yes, if that’s true they’ve been gone for a long time. But I’m queen now. I have to make her proud.” 

 

She raised her chin, looking at Natasha with something like a challenge in her ocean eyes. 

 

“You will,” Natasha assured. “But only if you get enough sleep. Go to bed, my queen.” 

 

Wanda made a face, and Nat raised an eyebrow. “Not going to argue with your champion this soon, are you?”

 

Wanda opened her mouth and then closed it again. “Fine.” she drained the rest of her bittersweet tea, setting the mug to her side. 

 

Nat stared into the dying fire, comforted by the heat and the sounds of the sleeping forest. Her ward said something, and she looked up, Wanda’s eyes reflecting the firelight like a wolf’s. 

 

Nat smiled at the image. Yes, her queen was a wolf. Young and proud and vicious enough to do anything for her kingdom, but with a heart too big for her own good. 

“What was that?” Natasha asked, taking a sip of her own tea. (Not bittersweet, but her own herbal blend a friend had gifted her.) It burned her tongue, but she ignored the pain, looking up to meet Wanda’s gaze.

 

“Thank you,” Wanda said, slightly louder. Her voice sounded better already, that smooth and self-assured soprano sliding back into place like a mask. 

 

Well, Natasha was the empress of masks. “For what?” 

 

Anything the queen was hiding, she’d find out. 

 

“For everything,” Wanda murmured, and Nat had to lean forward to catch the words. 

 

Gods, it would be hard to break Wanda’s trust. But for the good of their kingdom, their world, she had to. 

 

She had no other choice. 

 

✶      ✶      ✶

 

That night, Natasha took them off of the Queen’s Road and into the forest as the moon ascended into an ocean of stars. 

Wanda nodded off as they rode into an empty clearing, ready to pass out on her bedroll without even eating dinner. 

 

Natasha stopped her, tossing the long stick she’d been whittling earlier. Wanda stared at it, watching as it hit her in the leg and bounced to the ground. 

 

“Pick it up,” Nat ordered. 

 

“What? I’m going—”

 

“Pick it up and face me. We’re sparring.” Natasha pulled her own staff from their saddlebags—which she must have taken down while Wanda nodded off, because she didn’t even remember dismounting her horse.

 

“Nat, I’m tired. Can we do this tomorrow?” 

 

Her champion didn’t respond, just stalked towards her. Wanda eyed her suspiciously, then turned away, looking for a tree to fall asleep against. 

 

Something hard hit her thigh, and she yelped, whirling around. “Nat!” 

 

“I told you, majesty, we’re sparring.” The immortal’s eyes shone in the moonlight, her grip on the staff tight and her stance solid. 

 

Wanda bit back a curse. Gods-damn her perfect champion with her perfect face. “Nat, please—” 

 

Nat struck again, so fast Wanda couldn’t trace her—faster than  _ Pietro,  _ which shouldn’t be possible—and Wanda yelped again, grabbing for the staff Nat had made her. 

 

“What are you  _ doing _ ,” Wanda demanded, gaping at her champion as she walked a circle around her, studying the queen inhumanly keen eyes.

 

“Testing you. Don’t disappoint me, Majesty.” 

 

Nat struck again, but slower, and Wanda stumbled backwards, raising her staff. 

 

“Slow,” Nat said, shaking her head. “Did you learn anything at home?” 

 

Wanda growled and charged the immortal, who sidestepped, slapping Wanda’s back with her staff as she did. 

 

“I’m tired,” Wanda hissed, panting now. “We’ll resume later.” 

 

“Enemies won’t wait for your royal highness to have a bath and good night’s sleep before murdering you, Wanda!” Nat said, snatching her staff from her and poking her with it. 

 

Wanda hissed, grabbing for it, and Natasha spun away, swift as a serpent.

 

“You aren’t my enemy!” 

 

“If I were, you’d be dead,” Natasha snapped, throwing Wanda’s staff to her. 

 

She flinched, barely catching it. 

 

Nat flipped the staff in her own hand, twirling it in a complex movement Wanda could only dream of mastering. 

 

“Why don’t you release some of your magic? You seem tense.” 

 

Wanda’s jaw feathered as she ground her teeth. 

 

“I wanted a champion so I would never need to use my powers. They only lead to evil.” 

 

“That’s not true,” Nat replied, walking towards her queen. 

 

Wanda raised her staff, eyeing her warily. “Tell my parents that,” she replied, the words barely a whisper in the dark clearing. “They’re paying the price, across the sea. They have been for five years.” 

 

Nat is quiet, looking down at her staff, and Wanda rounds on her. “You don’t have to believe me. No one else does.” 

 

Nat opened her mouth, most likely to try and soothe the queen’s wounded pride, but she cut her off. “Good night. I’ll see you in the morning, champion.” 

 

Coming from Wanda’s bittersweet-stained lips, the title sounded like an insult. 

 

✶      ✶      ✶

 

The queen and her champion reached the blue palace two days later. Wanda had been restless once the toxins were out of her system—the antidote had worked miraculously. 

 

Nat had gotten Wanda to spar with her, albeit with much complaining, and she was somewhat surprised at the speed with which Wanda learned. 

 

First an evil queen, then an herbalist, and now a proficient staff wielder… her charge certainly had many surprises hid up the billowing sleeves of the gray cloak she’d stolen from Natasha.

 

Nat was of half a mind to ask for it back, opening her mouth to give the request, when Wanda gasped.

 

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed, eyes wide as she took in the rocky outcrops that slowly overtook the forests surrounding the Queen’s Road. Ahead, the rocks turned to sand and Vongasta-style houses, all white wood and peach-colored sandstone, the windows painted with colorful sigils that spoke of magical heritage.

 

“Wait till you see the sky,” Nat grinned. 

 

Wanda looked at her, cocking her head. 

 

Nat smiled. Yes, Wanda reminded her of someone. But she’d reflect on that while the pair of them weren’t running for their lives. “It changes color as we near the sea. The Vongasta have a legend about it, perhaps I’ll tell it to you sometime.” 

 

Wanda’s brows raised. “I don’t remember reading that in the tomes about Vongasta.” 

 

Nat winked at her. “It’s a heavily-guarded secret for the sea people. Everyone would move in if they shared, and they don’t like sharing.” 

 

Wanda nodded solemnly. “I can understand that.”

 

So they arrived at the blue palace the evening of the fourth day of riding, and Nat couldn’t help but release the breath she’d been holding the past week as her charge rode up the steep slope of the palace grounds unharmed. 

 

They took the back route, bypassing the Bori city east of the palace. 

 

She and Wanda could explore the taverns and markets another day. Today they needed rest and food. 

 

A bath would be nice. 

 

Nat was brought out of her fantasies of hot, lemon-scented water when Wanda gasped. “You’re right!” she exclaimed, letting go of the reins to clasp her hands together, face turned to the clouds. “It’s pink!” 

 

The immortal couldn’t keep the smile from her lips as Wanda stared up at the sky, her horse surging forward with his newfound freedom. 

 

Wanda squeaked, snatching at the reins, and Nat laughed at her queen. 

 

“Ten more minutes, little one, and then you can have your head in the clouds all you like.” 

 

“You didn’t see anything,” Wanda grumbled, but she fought to keep the smile off her lips. 

 

Nat snorted, urging Widow forward. “Now, the Vongasta nobles are expecting us…”

 

Wanda fought yawns as Natasha led her through a short history lesson on the  _ people of the sea _ —as they called themselves—and their customs, ignoring the frowns her champion shot her as her eyes shut more than once. “I’m tired, I’m sorry!” 

 

“They will probably want to talk to us, hear your story,” Nat said, not unkindly. 

 

Wanda sighed, back straightening. She was eighteen now—officially queen of the realm. 

 

She couldn’t be a tired teenager, exhausted from their journey and everything that had happened before they’d embarked.

 

She was Wanda Elderia Maximoff, queen of Sokovia, and she would do her country proud. 

 

✶      ✶      ✶

 

Wanda chewed on a fingernail as she and Nat waited to be brought into the Vongastan ruler’s council room. 

 

“Don’t do that,” Nat muttered, staring straight at the massive oak door before them, back painfully straight. Wanda half-wondered if her champion was even breathing. 

 

Wanda dropped her hand from her mouth, scowling. “What’s it matter to you?” 

 

“It’s a bad—” Natasha started, and then the door opened from within, and she shot Wanda a glare, jerking her chin at the waiting room. 

 

Wanda took a deep breath and walked in, squaring her shoulders and relaxing her fists. It’d do her no good if the Vongasta royals knew how nervous she was. 

 

A man and a woman looked up as she entered, Natasha close behind her. 

 

Wanda dipped her head, the only acceptable greeting of one monarch to another. 

 

“Welcome, young queen of Sokovia,” the woman said, inclining her head. “Please, sit.”

 

She obeyed, sitting in the plush chair across from the two royals, an old desk between them. 

 

Without looking back, she knew Natasha was standing behind her, guarding the door, and she smiled slightly. 

 

Her champion was doing her job, and now it was time for Wanda to do hers.

 

“Thank you for allowing me here, Majesties. Your graciousness will not be forgotten by Sokovia.” 

 

The man spoke, this time. “You and your kin are always welcome at the Blue Palace. I am sure that you and your champion are weary from your travels, and the events prior. But we would like to hear from you, what has transpired that caused the queen of Sokovia to flee her palace and come to us for shelter.” 

 

Wanda’s smile tightened a fraction. She didn’t like the term  _ flee— _ especially since the proper term was kidnapping when Nat was involved, but she nodded.

 

“Of course. I’ll start from the beginning…” 

 

Natasha watched as her queen shared her story, starting with the tragedy five years ago and sharing nearly everything that had happened since—her rise as queen, the annual celebration that brought hundreds to Sokovia—and ending with the events of the past week. “And now I sit before you. Apologies if we smell, there was no time to stop and bathe during our journey.” 

 

The Vongasta royals laughed, and she knew Natasha smiled from behind her.

 

Her statement wasn’t completely true—after all, Nat had found time to spar with Wanda until her bones ached—but her champion had told her that humor went a long way with the Vongasta. 

 

So she did her best.

 

“Of course,” the woman said. “Will we see you in the morning, for the tidal ceremony?” 

 

Wanda nodded, smiling, even though she had no idea what that was. 

 

“Very good. I can show you to your rooms,” the man said, standing. “Natasha can show you everything else—if you remember,” he added, smiling at Natasha. 

 

Wanda raised a brow. Nat hadn’t said anything about visiting before, as they rode, and she planned on asking her about it the second they were alone. 

 

“You’ll find my memory impeccable, Thor,” Nat replied dryly. 

 

Wanda stood, shooting her champion a small smile as they walked out of the room, the man following after a short conversation with the woman she assumed was his wife. 

 

Natasha just nodded to her, but the recognition made Wanda’s heart warm. 

 

“Now, your bedchambers are on the fourth floor, so I’m afraid you’re in for a bit of a journey once more. I had servants sent to your rooms with refreshments, but let one of them know if you need anything else. If you need me or Jane, my queen, Nat knows where our chambers are.” Thor grinned at the champion.

 

“Thank you,” Nat said, walking beside Wanda, and the queen had never felt more powerful. 

 

Thor inclined his head in answer, and they turned a corner, Wanda marveling at the walls covered in mosaic art. 

 

“Oh yes, these walls tell the stories of our people. This one here depicts—” 

 

“Nat?” A masculine voice Wanda didn’t recognize cried, footsteps coming towards them, and the trio turned to see a young man walking towards them, wide grin on his face. 

 

“You bastard,” Natasha breathed, shaking her head, and Wanda didn’t know if she was going to kiss or slap the man as she strode up to him.

 

Neither, it seemed—she embraced him, and how Wanda wished she could be the stranger in that moment. 

 

Thor tried to engage Wanda again, as Nat and her—lover? ancient enemy? brother? Gods, she hoped the man was her brother—talked animatedly, Natasha relaxed in a way Wanda hadn’t yet seen. But Wanda just watched them, and Thor eventually gave up on telling the queen one of the stories on the walls beside them—something to do with the ocean and a purple man, Wanda really wasn’t paying attention—and Thor cleared his throat, glancing pointedly from Natasha to Wanda. 

 

Nat whacked the man she’d been talking to, grinning. “Gods, Clint, you distracted me from my job! Clint, this is Wanda Maximoff, queen of Sokovia.” 

 

Clint bowed, still grinning from ear-to-ear. “Please to meet you, Highness.” 

 

Wanda nodded, unable to keep the ice from her voice. “Likewise.” 

 

Clint cleared his throat, and Natasha broke the awkward tension with a smile. “Thor, do you mind showing Wanda to our rooms? Clint and I have a lot to talk about.” 

 

Wanda shot Nat a look, but her champion was already pulling Clint down the hall, away from Wanda and Thor. 

 

“You have to give them space, I’ve learned,” Thor said, walking to the spiral staircase at the end of the hall. Wanda followed, glancing back at Natasha and Clint as their laughter echoed down the corridor.

 

“What?” Wanda wasn’t upset. Natasha could do whatever she liked. She’d said the blue palace was safe, so now they were free to roam without each other. So why did Wanda feel so betrayed? 

 

“The people who serve you. Their work may revolve around you but their lives don’t. Just remember that, as one ruler to another.” 

 

Wanda nodded, sighing as they began ascending the smooth marble steps, staircase lit by white candles. 

 

They walked up four flights in silence, Wanda embarrassed by how winded the ascent had her. 

 

Thor was unaffected, huge muscles straining in his tunic, and he smiled at her as they walked down another hall. The mosaics in this corridor were red and gold and pink, a truly spectacular sunset. 

 

“These are your chambers for the remainder of your stay. The next one over is Natasha’s. Please let me know if you need anything.” 

 

“Does it ever—ever get easier?” Wanda asked, hoping the Vongasta royal wouldn’t notice the tremble in her tone. Her hand went to the pendant around her throat, the silver smooth against her fingers. 

 

“What do you mean?” he replied, studying the worry in her eyes. 

 

“Ruling. I—” she stopped herself, not about to spill her fears to a man she did not know. 

 

Thor just looked at Wanda, a sad smile on his face. “Yes. Or maybe it hardens you. But do not be afraid, Maximoff. You have good people around you. Just learn to trust yourself.” 

 

She nodded, swallowing down a yawn. “Thank you, Majesty. I’ll keep that in mind.” 

 

“If you ever need anything—anyone to talk to—I’m here,” he said. “But I’m sure you’re exhausted. Please get some rest, and I’ll see you in the morning.” 

 

“Thank you,” Wanda said again, but the Vongastan king was already walking down the hall, humming as he walked.

 

Wanda walked into her new room and shut the door behind her, leaning against it and groaning. 

 

Everything hurt, and she was so gods-damned tired. 

 

She closed her eyes, barely glancing at the bedchambers the Vongasta had so graciously given. 

 

_ Just five minutes,  _ she told herself. And the world went dark. 

 

✶      ✶      ✶

 

Wanda must have been dreaming, because there was no way her champion would hold her in her arms, cradling her like a baby and murmuring softly to her. 

 

But she hadn’t had such a vivid dream in a long time. 

 

She blinked up at Natasha, trying to speak, but her throat was dreadfully dry. 

 

“Go back to sleep, little one,” Natasha whispered, laying her down on a bed softer than clouds. 

 

Not that she’d ever touched a cloud—but she imagined they weren’t nearly as soft as Natasha’s fingertips as they grazed her forehead. 

 

“The doorway is no place to sleep,” her champion sighed, but her frown quickly lifted into a smile as Wanda’s eyes fluttered shut. 

 

“See you in the morning,” Natasha whispered, pulling an embroidered blanket over her young queen. 

 

Then she crept out, silent as an incoming storm. 


	4. the ocean of sun

 

 

Wanda sighed as hot water washed away the grime from the past week of travel, content to just sit until her fingers shriveled to prunes and she turned into a fish. 

 

“We have half an hour until the tidal ceremony, Wanda,” Nat said, walking past the bathroom in nothing but a satin shift, and Wanda stared, cheeks turning scarlet. 

 

“Okay,” she croaked, grabbing the bar of soap her champion had left her on a little table by the tub, scrubbing her body so she didn’t have to think about Nat’s.

Which didn’t work. But she tried. 

 

“Do you know what you’re going to wear?” Nat asked, striding into the bathroom again, this time wearing clothes, thank the gods—but clothes that made Wanda’s brain short-circuit. 

 

Her champion was clad in a burgundy dress that clung to her curves and swept out at the bottom like a tail. A black collar swept upwards, framing Nat’s face. She smiled at Wanda,  _ knowing _ the effect she had, and walked to the mirror, Wanda’s eyes stuck to her body like a bug in a spider’s web. 

 

“You look… gods, Nat,” Wanda breathed, bar of soap slipping from her fingers. It splashed into the warm water, but nothing could distract the queen from her champion.

 

“Why thank you, Wanda. I’ve never been compared to a god before. No more compliments, or I’ll gain the ego of one.” 

 

Wanda rolled her eyes, thankful that while her champion looked like a goddess of seduction, Nat was still the same sassy knight she’d gotten to know over the past week. 

 

And she had so much more to learn. 

 

“Who was that man we ran into, last night?” Wanda asked, doing her best to keep her voice casual. She started washing her hair, the picture of queenly nonchalance. 

 

“Clint?” Nat looked to Wanda and smiled. “A very old friend. I owe him my life.” 

 

She opened the painted cabinet beside her, pulling out some cosmetics. “We got to catch up last night. It was nice.”

 

Wanda nodded.  _ It would have been nice to have you here, she thought,  _ but kept her mouth shut. Thor’s words from last night echoed through her head— _ you have to give them space. _

 

Well, she’d give Nat all the space she wanted. Wanda could play the heartless, needless queen. She’d have her champion begging for attention—not the other way around.

 

She laughed at herself—her life could never be so. 

 

Thor had told her to trust herself—what in hell did that mean? 

 

Yes, Wanda trusted herself. Her magic, anyone else? Not so much. 

 

“You alright?” Nat asked, startling her from her thoughts. 

 

“I’m fine,” Wanda sighed, setting the soap back onto its tray and staring at the bubbles that hid her body from sight. “Could sleep for another ten hours, though.” 

 

Nat laughed. “We all could. I’ll be in my room if you need me. Will you be presentable in fifteen minutes?” 

 

Wanda unplugged the bath, lips curling into a smirk. “I can do it in ten.” 

 

Gods, she missed Agatha. 

 

She supposed a queen had to earn her handmaidens, but she didn’t know how Natasha and other women did it, getting dressed and ready with only two hands. 

 

Her mother had had four handmaidens, and it had still taken her hours to get ready on celebration days. 

 

Wanda shook her head, stepping out of the bath and onto a soft mat, pulling a towel around herself. 

 

She didn’t need to think of her mother today, or the mantra that came with any thoughts of Natalya.  _ She’s coming back. She’s proud of you. She’s de— _

 

Wanda gasped aloud as crippling pain shot down her spine, stumbling to her knees. 

 

_ Kill,  _ something in her that she didn’t want to know screamed _. Eat. We’re hungry. _

 

“No,” she gasped, fists tangling in her blood-dark hair. 

 

_ Blood. We want blood. _

 

She gasped in horror as her hands came away from her face wet. “What—” 

 

“Wanda, you ready?” Nat called, knocking on the door between the queen and the outside world. 

 

Between the monster and her champion. 

 

“Go away,” Wanda growled, squeezing her eyes shut against the red that blurred her vision.

 

“Wanda,” Natasha repeated, and suddenly there were hands on her shoulders, and she lashed out, shoving against the world that had only given her pain. 

 

Natasha flew across the room, not making a noise as she slammed against the wall. The seashells strung along it rattling. “Wanda. Let  _ go _ .”

 

“I can’t,” Wanda gasped, even as bright sparks danced up her arms. 

 

“We’ve got a ceremony to attend, little one,” Nat said, ice in her voice. “Let go.” 

 

But Wanda stood, blinking away the blood dripping down her face. “No.” 

 

People thought power was magic—killing with curses and spraying sparks from two hundred feet in the air. 

 

People thought power was authority—a crown and a sword, a poisoned tongue. 

 

Wanda, who had both of these things, disagreed. 

 

Power was what was inside of her when she bit down on her scream and pushed her magic down. 

 

The sparks stopped. The headache eased until she could see again. 

 

She touched her scalp. 

 

No blood. 

 

No voices. 

 

“I’m fine,” she said, exhaling a little too heavily. 

 

Natasha barked out a laugh, wincing as her ribs protested. 

 

“Are you alright?” Wanda moved to her side. She didn’t let herself reach out a hand to touch her champion. 

 

Nat could see in her eyes that she wanted to, so she closed the gap, fingers brushing the young queen’s hands. Wanda trembled at the contact, and the events of the morning hadn’t brought tears to her eyes but a gentle touch did. 

 

“I’m so sorry,” Wanda said, lips wobbling. 

 

Nat shook her head. “It’s okay. My wards have done much worse than shove me against a wall.” 

 

Wanda laughed out a sob and Natasha pulled her into her arms, resting her chin on the girl’s shoulder. 

 

“You’re going to be okay, Wanda.” 

 

They walked out of the palace together. The smell of the sea filled Wanda’s lungs and she breathed deeply, not caring if she looked ridiculous as she exhaled the darkness and let clean light in. 

 

Nat’s eyes were on her as they walked down the blue-shelled path to the water. 

 

Wanda’s eyes were on the sea, indigo water lightening to sapphire as the sun rose above the waves.

 

“Gods,” she breathed, every thought fleeing her head as she just stared at the incredible being that surrounded her country. 

 

Many of her people worshiped the sea, called her the Great Goddess or Mother, and now she knew why. 

 

“First time?” Natasha asked, but Wanda was already running.

 

The queen quickly discovered that running on sand was quite difficult, and her ankles and calves protested vehemently as she ran, but she didn’t stop. 

 

She ran until the roaring of the waves was so loud she couldn’t hear herself think and the wind pulled at her hair (Nat had braided it up and away from her face, and Wanda had made many embarrassing sounds as the woman had slid her hands through Wanda’s hair but her champion was a good person so she’d said nothing.)

 

A group of Vongastan nobles stood about twenty feet away, and she knew they were watching her curiously. 

 

The witch-queen of Sokovia. Heir of the seven kingdoms. Monster.

 

_ Damn all that _ , she thought as she kicked off the flat, elegant shoes the servants had procured for her. 

 

To the ocean, she was just a girl. And she accepted that role gladly as she ran into the sea. 

 

Natasha laughed aloud as she watched her queen run into the water, expectations and holy ceremony be damned.

 

“I see why you want to protect her,” Clint said, coming to stand by her side. She didn’t look at him, but her lips lifted slightly. 

 

“I have to, Clint. She’s the future.” 

 

✶      ✶      ✶

 

 

Wanda ran until she was knee-deep in the white-blue water, laughing and gasping at the cold. 

 

She looked down, watching as her dress swirled in the clear water. 

 

She’d be freezing during the ceremony—whatever it was, Nat hadn’t told her as they walked—but she didn’t care. 

 

It was worth it, for this. 

 

She lifted her head to gaze at the horizon, at the impossible line where the sky and sea kissed and became one.

 

If she couldn’t have that, at least she’d seen it here. 

 

“Majesty,” someone called, and she turned, feeling lighter than she had in years.

 

Natasha stood at the edge of the water, heeled slippers sinking in the sand. “Care to join us?”

 

Wanda ducked her head, fighting a smile. “Of course, my Champion.” 

 

Natasha held out her hand as she approached, and Wanda studied the woman for a heartbeat before taking it, warm and strong and calloused against her soft fingers. 

 

“I wish I’d seen this sooner,” Wanda murmured as they walked to the cluster of Vongasta nobles and a woman in white robes—a priestess. 

 

Natasha just squeezed her fingers and led her queen to the crowd, coming to a stop beside Clint. 

 

He nodded to Wanda, and Wanda got the sense that his bright eyes saw a lot more than people gave him credit for.

 

She nodded back, and made a mental note to ask what his story was, since Nat was never forthcoming. 

 

“My friends,” a woman began, and everyone stopped talking to listen to the woman in white. She smiled graciously, teeth a brilliant white against her ebony skin. “Thank you for joining me today. We have two special guests, and I hope their presence leads to both a special unity between our countries and a truly meaningful ceremony today.”

 

Wanda smiled at the priestess. She wanted that too. 

 

“Before Tiamat accepts our worship, however, she must have sacrifice.” The priestess paused, and her dark eyes fell on Wanda before looking back to the sea.

 

Wanda swallowed. The priestess was truly blessed by her goddess—her eyes spoke things no human should know. 

 

For once, she was grateful that Pietro wasn’t here, because international relationships be damned, he’d punch anyone who tried to sacrifice an animal in front of him. 

 

But the priestess went on, as if hearing Wanda’s thoughts. “Tiamat does not ask for anything so barbaric as blood—of a person or animal.” 

 

Wanda breathed a sigh of relief, and she heard Clint snort from beside Natasha.

 

The priestess glanced at him, and Natasha very subtly jammed her elbow into his ribs. Wanda bit her lip to keep from laughing.

 

“What Tiamat wants, like any great goddess, is ourselves. Now I ask for your sacrifices, my friends.” 

 

As one, the nobles started walking towards the ocean. Wanda gasped, squeezing Natasha’s hand—she did not want to watch a mass suicide. 

 

Nat squeezed back, and the priestess walked to the three of them. 

 

“They give memories, my queen,” the woman said, and Wanda nodded, heart calming as she noticed the small boxes some of the Vongasta carried. 

 

Some gave flowers, or bundles of cloth that Wanda assumed had something of import inside. 

 

All seemed serene, as they walked back without the weight of their gifts.

 

“I want to sacrifice,” Wanda said, letting go of Natasha’s hand.

 

“Wanda, you don’t have to—” Nat started, reaching for her. 

 

Wanda nodded. “I know. But I have something to give.” 

 

She took a deep breath and started walking, the priestess beside her. 

 

“Do I—say anything?” Wanda asked, suddenly nervous. The water lapped at her feet.

 

While her family respected their people’s gods and superstitions, her parents hadn’t had much faith—Natalya placed hope in herself, although she payed homage to Sarah, and Boaz’s god was alcohol. 

 

Her childhood had been empty of gods and goddesses—although, Wanda realized as she stepped into the water once more, hand going to her throat—she and Pietro had felt like gods in their own right. 

 

“There is no formal prayer—Tiamat wants your truth. Say what your heart tells you, or nothing at all. Tiamat knows what you want to say.” 

 

Wanda nodded, lifting the pendant from her throat, cupping the smooth silver in her palm and sliding the chain between her fingers. 

 

The priestess stepped back, giving Wanda privacy, and the queen’s respect for the older woman, which had already been high, rose monumentally. 

 

She closed her eyes, just  _ feeling  _ for a moment.

 

Gods, she was freezing. The water swept past her ankles, drenching her dress again, and she reveled in the shifting sand beneath her bare feet, the icy water reminding her that she was not alone. 

 

Wanda opened her eyes. She didn’t believe in gods and goddesses. 

 

But after experiencing the power and wonder of the ocean, she believed in Tiamat. 

 

She let the necklace fall from her hand, watched as her house’s—her  _ mother’s  _ sigil sparkled in the sunlight as it fell, hitting the water’s surface with a  _ plop _ .

 

It should have sunk into the sand, buried a few inches underwater until a contemplative Vongasta stepped on it as they walked along the water. 

 

It didn’t—a wave several feet high crashed into Wanda out of nowhere, and she fell on her ass, startled—but not upset. 

 

Because even as she fell, she felt something that nature had never given her before— _ love _ . Acceptance, and pride. 

 

And as the queen of Sokovia sat on her ass in the freezing water, tide tugging at her clothes and wind whipping her hair, she finally felt a sense of peace. 

 

She sat there for a long time.

 

After a while, her stomach growled, and she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. 

 

“Ready?” Natasha asked, and Wanda nodded, eyes not leaving the horizon. 

 

She stood, a little shaky with numb limbs, and sighed. Natasha started walking back, but Wanda didn’t follow her. 

 

“I will avenge you,” she promised, leaning down to wash her hands in Tiamat’s waters. 

 

She gasped as Natalya’s eyes stared up at her where her reflection should be. 

 

A wave pushed against Wanda’s calves, and her mother was gone. 

 

“Nat, I’m starving!” Clint called, and Wanda blinked and shook herself. 

 

Enough of the spooky goddess magic. 

 

She walked out of the water, and as soon as both her feet were on dry sand the cold slapped her, burrowing into her bones. 

 

Her teeth started chattering, and Nat rushed to her, eyes narrowed with concern. 

 

“Here, take this,” Clint says, at Nat’s side. He shrugs off his cloak, wrapping it around Wanda’s shoulders, and she wrapped her arms around herself, murmuring her thanks. 

 

“It won’t warm up till summer,” a familiar voice says, and Wanda looks up to see Thor and Jane walking towards them. “Doesn’t seem to stop people from jumping in, though.” 

 

His eyes glittered with mirth, and she smiled, shrugging. “I didn’t know it would be cold.”

 

The priestess was talking again, the religious nobles frowning at Wanda and her little group. Wanda glances at her hopefully, but Nat shakes her head. “We have things to discuss, majesty. We can come back tomorrow.” 

 

Wanda nodded, but she still felt a pang of sadness as their group walked back to the palace. 

 

A song like clouds in sunshine began, and Wanda turned, eyes widening as she beheld the priestess and the nobles singing, smiling at one another as they worshiped their goddess.

 

“It’s beautiful,” Wanda breathed. The words were in an old language—not Common or Sokovian or Vongastan—but she understood the emotion: hope. 

 

They all stood still for a moment, listening to the song, and then Clint’s stomach growled and everyone laughed. Nat threw an arm around his shoulders. 

 

“Let’s see what the cook can serve up for us, hm?” 

 

“So that’s how it is,” he retorted, and Wanda walked with them into the palace, once again a follower but not minding so much this time.

 

Thor led them into a private dining room connected to the office she and Nat had been brought to yesterday. A man she didn’t recognize sat at the end of the table further from the door, peering over a map. He didn’t look up as they approached.

 

Wanda sat next to Nat, Jane on her other side. 

 

“I’ll grab us food,” Clint offered, vanishing before anyone could respond. 

 

Jane cracked a smile. “He is a great asset. Unfortunately, food seems to control his emotions.” 

 

Wanda laughed, but her mirth faded as she took in her companions. 

 

The sovereigns of Vongasta, dressed in blue and murmuring to one another, Jane’s head tilted towards Thor’s as he spoke. 

 

Natasha, sitting so still beside her she seemed made of marble. Her eyes drifted to the end of the table, where the man with the maps stared back at her. One of his eyes was obscured by a black eyepatch. 

 

He propped his elbows on the varnished table surface, that one dark eye not leaving her face.

 

Wanda stared back, trying to look unaffected.

 

Natasha cleared her throat, shifting in her seat. Wanda's eyes didn't leave the stranger's. 

 

"I see you've met Nicholas." 

 

The man blinked then, nodding to Natasha. "Romanoff. I always knew you were a champion." 

 

She snorted, shaking her head. "This is the queen of Sokovia, Wanda Maximoff."

 

Wanda glanced back to Nicholas, curiosity piqued. 

 

That whole week of traveling, and Natasha hadn't mentioned that she'd even been to the Blue Palace—let alone that she knew everyone here. 

 

"I know who she is," Nicholas replied, lips raising in a wolf's smile. 

 

Wanda was about to snap a reply that would have gotten her elbowed by Natasha when the door opened, Clint rambling about the benefits of red potatoes compared to brown. 

 

He grinned at everybody, a basket of steaming bread in his arms. Wanda nearly moaned at the smell. If heaven existed, it surely smelled like freshly-baked bread. And Nat. 

 

Wanda bit the inside of her cheek, banishing all thoughts of the beautiful warrior—which was difficult, as said beautiful warrior sat right next to her. 

 

"I made breakfast," Clint was saying, setting the basket on the table. 

 

It took all of Wanda's self-control to not lunge for the bread. 

 

Nat grabbed a piece and tore it in half, handing Wanda a chunk, and she would have kissed her champion right there if she wasn't so hungry.

 

She bit into the bread, closing her eyes as her mouth met the hot, soft white bread, crunchy on the outside and spongy on the inside. 

 

She stopped eating as more people filed into the room after Clint, wearing yellow and blue and carrying plates piled with food. 

 

Wanda relaxed when she realized they were servants, going back to her bread and ignoring everyone else. 

 

"Try some of the rice," Natasha said, once Wanda had finished her bread—otherwise she wouldn't have paid her any heed, honestly. 

 

Wanda smiled her thanks as her champion set a plate heaped with food before her. 

Natasha had even remembered that she was vegetarian and hadn't given her any meat. 

 

By Tiamat, she was in love with this woman. 

 

The servants left, and Wanda dug in, starting on the mountain of rice in the center of her plate, a thick green sauce running down the sides like rivers. 

 

"So," Thor began, and Wanda looked up, her mouth full with ridiculously good food. "I wanted to get everyone together to discuss our next steps, going forward. "Do you have anything you'd like to address first, Majesty?" 

 

Wanda swallowed too fast and choked on a grain of rice, face turning red as she felt the eyes of everyone in the room on her. Natasha handed her a glass of water and she downed it gratefully. 

 

"Sorry," she gasped, setting the glass down with a cough. _ Way to make a first impression _ , she heard Pietro say in the back of her mind, and her chest constricted. 

 

But thinking of her brother reminded her of home, of where she was supposed to be ruling. 

 

"Yes, actually," she said, voice scratchy from nearly choking to death.  _ First assassins, now Vongastan royalty _ — _ who else will you piss off?  _

 

Vision's voice, this time. She shook herself. Her family had to stay in her head until they spoke again in person. 

 

"When can I go home?”

 

There was silence for a beat. Wanda took a sip of water, studying her companions and waiting for the answer that held her future.

 

Thor looked down at his plate, expression mournful. Jane smiled bracingly at her, lips tight like she was holding back a secret. 

 

Clint's face was impassive as he tore into a hunk of bread, the only hint of his emotions in his hands as he ripped the bread apart a little too aggressively. 

 

Nicholas was the only one she couldn't read. He was also the only one who didn't blink from her stare.

 

Natasha spoke at last, making Wanda blink. Nicholas smiled slightly, and she made him a silent promise that she would win a staring contest with him one day. “You can’t go home, my queen." 

 

Wanda turned to Natasha, shaking her head imperceptibly as her champion delivered the verbal blow. "Not until we eliminate this threat to your life.”

 

Wanda dropped the bread in her hands, fingers going to her neck, to a necklace that was no longer there. 

 

Her mother couldn't give her comfort now. 

 

"I have to go back," Wanda said, wishing she didn't sound like a petulant child. "Pietro, our  _ people _ —"

 

"Are fine," Nicholas interrupted, and if Wanda was five years younger she would have shot sparks at him. But she was a diplomatic queen, so she folded her hands in her lap and nodded at him to continue.

 

"Your visier has taken temporary leadership until the danger is taken care of. Pietro is with some of my people in the north, I received notice this morning that he arrived yesterday safe and concerned about you. You can send him word after we're done here."

 

Wanda nodded, genuine this time, and tried for a smile. 

 

It probably looked like a grimace, but Nick's good eye crinkled slightly, so she knew he understood. 

 

"So what's the plan, then? How do we know when it's safe for me to go home?"

 

"When Natasha kills the Chordane assassins," Clint said, barely understandable with a mouth full of bread. Wanda noticed with a grin that the basket was nearly empty.

 

He swallowed his mouthful, looking glad that he hadn't sat next to Natasha because the look she was giving him could peel skin from a statue. 

 

"I wasn't planning on announcing that just yet," she said drily. 

 

He shrugged. "She's gonna find out at some point. Personally, I'd like to know the name of the murderers after me before they try to kill me—what is this, the third time, now?"

 

Wanda's eyes widened. "You—"

 

"Natasha, please explain to your queen here before we all make the decision to strangle Clint,” Nicholas said tiredly.

 

"Hey!"

 

Natasha sighed. "This is the last time I'm letting you into a council." 

 

"I made you breakfast, you—"

 

Jane cleared her throat, and Clint's mouth snapped shut, whatever insult dying on his lips. "Sorry," he mouthed, going back to his plate.

 

"Anyways," Nat said, eyes still crinkled at the corners from the smile she tried to hide. That smile vanished as she began to speak. "The Chordane are an organization of elite assassins. Their leader, Declan Dane, claims to hate magic. His goal in life is to eradicate it."

 

A bitter smile curled Natasha's lips upward. "That's what he says. The truth?" 

 

Natasha glanced to Wanda, to the rest of her spellbound audience. Wanda was sure the rest of them knew this, had heard it before, but they were all rapt under Nat's sharp gaze. 

 

"He wants it for himself. He hoards magic, like a dragon hoards gold. After eight hundred years he found a dark book that taught him things not meant for the living. Now he knows how to take the magic from a soul and meld it with his own vast power. He's become unstoppable." 

 

Nat's eyes had become shuttered, lifeless. Wanda touched her hand and she blinked, eyes focusing on Wanda's, and the queen felt like she was trying to calm a wild thing. A woman who's stake in this plan was personal. 

 

"How do you know this?" Wanda asked quietly. 

 

Nat's lips pursed. "I'll tell you some other time, little one." 

 

Wanda nodded, tapping the top of Nat's hand before pulling away. Even yesterday, she'd be upset at the refusal of knowledge, but today had been eye-opening. And Natasha had already shared so much.

 

"How can you be sure it's this Dane?" Jane asked, hands clasped with Thor’s on the table. (By Tiamat, how Wanda wants that.)

 

"Because she's been hunting them for the last five years—even before that," Nicholas interjected, leaning back in his chair.

 

Natasha nodded. "Five years ago, Nicholas told me about a small group of Chordane assassins, setting out for a target in Sokovia. I left for your palace, but Declan's killers got there first." 

 

Wanda nodded, trying to ignore the sorrow in Natasha's eyes. For some reason, it was much harder than it usually was to see another’s pain—people always murmured their sympathies for her parents' deaths when they first met Wanda, and she ripped their lies apart, explaining that her parents were just across the sea. But when Nat's voice dropped and Wanda had to lean close to hear her voice, those sad eyes inches from hers... it was a little hard to insist that what everyone said was a lie. 

 

Wanda's eyes dropped to Nat's lips, and she realized the woman was still speaking. "—got there in time to save you, at least," Natasha said, lips lifting slightly. 

 

Wanda nodded, resting her chin on her hand.

 

"As soon as I was sure the Chordane had gone, I left. Their trail went cold at the Angloterran border. Then, last week, assassins struck again. Cleaner, and more of them. I wasn’t sure if it was them or some other group vying for the throne, then I found the dart in Wanda’s neck. Shomond poison.”

 

Wanda's eyes widened. She remembered the banquet, then passing out with a strange pain in her neck and waking up sick as hell. She hadn't thought about a poisoned dart, though—Nat must have taken it out of her neck while she’d been passed out. 

 

"Nasty shit," Clint said, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief. It was embroidered with something, but across the table Wanda could only make out black and purple thread. 

 

"Yes," Wanda agreed, remembering too well the sick feeling of poison coursing through her veins. "So, assassins want to steal my and Pietro's magic. I won't let them touch Pietro's," she said, blood roaring at the thought, and everyone shifted as the room temporarily became colder. Wanda started speaking, and the temperature returned to normal, although her comrades' opinion of her had changed slightly. 

 

Wanda hadn't noticed the shift, although her words lost their ice as she said, "I haven't used mine intentionally in five years. Don't they know that?" 

 

Natasha and Nicholas exchanged looks Wanda didn't miss. 

 

"They don't care," Natasha said after a heartbeat, looking away from the one-eyed man. Wanda suspected he was some kind of spymaster, but she wasn't certain yet. 

 

"It doesn't matter what your view on magic is," Nicholas said, and Wanda didn't know how he knew, but he did. Heat rose in her cheeks as the judgments she knew would come echoed in her mind:  _ a witch queen afraid of her own magic? Did she kill her parents herself?  _

 

No, she told the voices in her head. But she knew they'd never really leave.

 

"Like Natasha said, all Dane wants is power. He'll take it from any source, from hedgewitch to sprite to human queen," Nicholas continued.

 

"So how do we kill him?" Wanda asked. 

 

The room had been quiet before, but it was silent as a crypt now, heavy with dark knowledge and anticipation. 

 

"That's what we're here to discuss," Thor answered.

 

Natasha nodded. "No one knows how. Magic-wielders and normal fighters have tried, many times. Even if you can get past his personal guards—which is a death trap, they're vicious—he's a thousand year old warlock. Many think he  _ can't _ die."

 

"Great," Wanda said. 

 

"Our only hope is to subdue him for long enough to get him into some kind of cage that counteracts his magic. Once he's dead, the assassins blood-bound to him are free. And you and Pietro can go home." 

 

"Perfect," Wanda said. "So we're done within a week!"

 

Her companions laughed at her enthusiasm. 

 

"I hope so," Clint said. "Masquerading as a cook is exhausting." 

 

Natasha threw the last piece of bread at him.

 

It smacked him right on the nose and bounced into his goblet of wine. He swore, scowling at her. 

 

"I'm never telling you a secret ever again," she promised, and he laughed, white teeth flashing in the candlelight. 

 

"That's what they all say." 

 

The conversation moved on to logistics and Wanda knew she should pay attention but that strange thrumming started beneath her skin again, and she clenched her fists to keep from tearing her skin off. 

 

The pain of her nails digging into her palms grounded her. 

 

Someone touched her shoulder, and she jumped, looking up. Thor and Jane were gone, and Nat was frowning at her. "You alright? You dozed off, I didn't want to wake you, but—" she pried open Wanda's fist. Blood leaked from four cuts across her palm. 

 

Wanda opened her other fist, blood dripping from that one, too. "Shit," she sighed. 

 

Clint handed her a handkerchief, this one black and green. 

 

"Thank you," she said, wincing as she squeezed her palms together, fabric in the middle to slow the bleeding. 

 

"Jane and Thor had duties to attend to, but me and Clint were going to explore the city, if you're feeling up to it," Nat said, concern seeping through her mask. 

 

Wanda wasn't sure if Nat was becoming more open around her of if Wanda was learning to read her emotions. 

 

Either way, she didn't need her champion—or anyone—worried about her. 

 

"I'm fine," Wanda said, hoping her voice came out as assured and not pained as Natasha touched her fingers, wordlessly getting her to open her hands so she could them over. 

 

"I think I'll just go back to my room," she added, remembering that Nat had invited her somewhere. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm exhausted." She yawned, hoping Natasha didn't see through it. "Today was quite tiring."

 

"Tired of me already?" Clint grinned, standing and leaning an arm on his chair. 

 

"Yes," Wanda and Nat said at the same time. 

 

Nicholas laughed—the first time Wanda had heard him laugh the whole meeting, Wanda realized. 

 

"I'll be right outside," the older man said, standing and pushing his chair in. "I've got something to discuss with Wanda." 

 

Natasha nodded and stood, touching Wanda's shoulder. "I'll see you at dinner?"

 

"Of course," Wanda smiled, quickly covering her concern at being alone with Nicholas—not that she didn't trust him, but she didn't know how much he knew. 

 

And that scared her. She had a feeling the man had very different methods of extracting information than Natasha and Clint had. 

 

Natasha and Clint walked out, Clint winking at Wanda before shutting the door silently. She watched it close, lips drawn. 

 

"So why don't you use your powers?" 

 

Wanda jumped, startled at the question and Nicholas's voice after several moments of silence. She turned, looking up at him across the table. 

 

"You really want to know?" 

 

"I don't ask questions I don't want answers too, witch-queen." 

 

She sighed, looking down at her bloody hands. 

 

"This," she said quietly, showing him her palms. "I don't use my magic because the outcome is always blood." 

 

"Even before your parents were killed?" he asked, one eye enough for the man because she got the sense he saw everything.

 

She stilled at the question. "You ever been poisoned?" she replied, and that seemed like the answer he expected because he smiled slightly, glancing down at the table. She realized that someone had cleared the table while she was asleep—unfortunate, she would have loved another piece of bread.

 

"A few times. It's been a while, though."

 

Wanda tilted her head to the side, expression neutral. "How do you know Natasha?"

 

"I'm her father," he said flatly, and Wanda's eyes widened for a second before he burst out laughing.

 

"Ah, the look on your face," he sighed, and she bit her lower lip to keep from smiling. 

 

"Alright, majesty," Nicholas said,  go back to your chambers and do whatever it is young queens do. I'll be seeing you." 

 

Wanda smiled, stretching as she stood. Gods, everything hurt. The ocean had temporarily revitalized her, but sitting in a chair for what felt like hours and the week of riding before had pushed her body in a way she rarely did. (Pietro was the one running all over the palace and always riding. She enjoyed laying in the garden with a book or flirting with the kitchen maids.)

 

"Thank you, Nicholas," Wanda said, dipping her head to him and walking to the door. 

 

He walked back to his seat with the maps laid out before it, shaking his head. 

 

"Thank me when you and your brother return to Sokovia safe."

 

She nodded and walked out of the room, taking a deep breath. 

 

She'd had enough talking for one day. The copper-haired queen walked down the brightly lit hall to the stairs, thanking her father who had drilled it into her to always remember the entrances and exits of any palace she visited or lived in. "It can mean the difference between life and death, if you're spending a week in a foreign queen's palace and a fire breaks out or someone attacks. Being the one who doesn't remember where the gate or stairwell is means you're the one who ends up dead." 

 

Natalya hadn't liked Boaz talking like that—"She's  _ eight _ , she doesn't need to be thinking about how to avoid death in foreign lands!"—but she understood the need. 

 

Wanda pushed away thoughts of her parents as she ascended the marble stairs, Clint's handkerchief clenched in one hand. 

 

Her new wounds had brought temporary reprieve from the pressure in her head, but it started mounting again, and she didn't know how to keep it at bay much longer. 

 

Natasha said it would explode out of her. 

 

Wanda laughed at the macabre idea, saw the bits of gore and blood smeared across a rug. "A witch's way to die, I suppose," she muttered to herself. 

 

Panting, she reached the fourth floor, and stopped for a moment to breathe before walking down the hall. 

 

Times like this, she wished Pietro was the witch and she was the one gifted with super-speed. Simpler, and much more practical in application. 

 

And without all the horrendous guilt, Wanda thought wryly, pulling her chamber door open. 

 

She should probably lock it, but was too tired to think that now. 

 

She kicked off her shoes and collapsed onto the bed, not bothering to change from her ceremony-appropriate dress into a nightgown. 

 

Gods, that felt like years ago. She sighed, stretched out onto her stomach and closed her eyes. Just five minutes, she told herself. 

 

And the queen slept dreamlessly. 

 


	5. i never had wings, only feathers

 

Wanda paced the tile floors of her bedchamber, feet aching. She paid them no mind.

 

The only thing she could focus on was the strange tightness in her skin, the way her heart beat too fast—so fast she felt it in her bones.

 

She clenched her fist, pivoting on her heel to make her rounds again. She'd woken from her "five-minute" nap to find her room bathed in golden light as the sun returned to the ocean that had given him life. 

 

The wide windows were open, and a cool sea breeze caressed her face, tugging at her hair.

 

She grimaced. Not even the call of the sea could distract her now. She'd tried to sit down at the pearl desk in front of the wide-open windows and write to Pietro, but she couldn't sit still.

 

Something was wrong.

 

She’d always known it, deep inside. But knowing and accepting a thing are very different.

 

_ You cannot die unless you are killed. _

 

_ Coward! _

 

_ Little one. _

 

Wanda’s breaths came shakily as she wore down her soles—soul? if she still had one—with her footsteps. Not even Nat’s raspy voice, those bright, laughing eyes, could pull her out of this.

 

Whatever  _ this  _ was.

 

_ Let me out _ , the darkness inside her crooned, black and red tendrils of power rising inside of her.

 

Wanda slammed it down, gasping at the pain of it.

 

“You need to let go, Wanda,” her mother said, concern in her voice.

 

Wanda whirled, rushing to Natalya. Her mother stood in front of the windows, hair unmoving in the cool breeze.

 

“Mother,” Wanda gasped, reaching for her, even though something told her she shouldn’t.

 

“Let go,” Natalya commanded, and right as Wanda’s hands touched her mother’s shoulders, she vanished.

 

Wanda fell to her knees, not registering the shock that raced down her calves, up her thighs to rattle her ribs.

 

She screwed her eyes shut. Ribs shouldn’t rattle.

 

But they were now—clanging about inside her, heart jumping against the frail bones, begging to be let out. She touched her chest, gasping as her fingers burned the skin there.

 

“What—” a lone spark fell from Wanda’s lips, and the heat in her turned to ice.

 

“No, no no  _ no,”  _ she begged, scrambling to her feet, staring at her bloody hands in horror.

 

This was it—the burnout.

 

And Wanda deserved it.

 

Wicked queens had wicked ends.

 

Wanda screamed as her power surged out of her, only half-cognizant as she tumbled out of the window, limping across the balcony and barely thinking before throwing herself from the railing.

 

Her magic softened her descent—barely.

 

She just had to make it to the water. She did not care if the thing inside her consumed her alive—it would not hurt anyone else.

 

Never again.

 

“Wanda!” Nat was there in the shade of the garden, concern hidden by intense focus, and Wanda knew her champion was trying to come up with a solution, but they didn’t have time.

 

“I have to go,” Wanda gasped, holding up her hands. Otherworldly mist poured from them, and she sobbed. “Please, go.”

 

“I’m not leaving you,” the assassin said firmly, reaching for Wanda.

 

“No!” Wanda ran then, stumbling as her already injured ankle collapsed beneath her. 

 

One hundred yards. 

 

Sand and salt, and then freedom. Bliss.

 

She just had to get there.

 

Natasha followed her, the immortal immediately catching up to her, and Wanda screamed again—in frustration, in agony at the pain tearing through her, the magic leaking past her iron walls.

 

“You have to let go!” Nat cried, wind tearing at her hair.

 

Wanda didn’t have to look at the sky to see the storming teeming there. Dark clouds cast shadows across the white sand, and each step Wanda took the temperature dropped.

 

“I need more time,” she gritted out, clenching her jaw.

 

“No, Wanda. You have to let go now—before it’s too late.” Nat tried to grab Wanda’s hands again, but the queen stumbled away, clutching at her head.

 

“Leave me ALONE!”

 

Ninety yards.

 

_ Use your magic, coward. _

 

_ Eliminate the threat. (hoards magic like a dragon) _

 

“I’m so sorry, brother,” she gasped, and even in her pain and racing against the storm outside and in her, she begged any gods listening to spare her twin.

 

You can take everything from a queen—her magic, her crown, her people—but you cannot take herself.

 

And she had lost that five years ago. 

 

Nat kept following her, and Wanda would have roared her frustration if she had the energy. But she didn’t, so she kept stumbling towards that gray, thundering freedom.

 

Eighty yards.

 

There was water on her face. She wiped it away, blinking. Salt and red.

 

“Now, Wanda!”

 

Blood dripped from her eyes, mixing with tears.

 

“I’m sorry, Nat,” Wanda breathed, and then she exploded. 

 

✶      ✶      ✶

 

 

Wanda walked down an endless hallway. There was no floor, and no ceiling, but that didn't matter. 

 

She wasn't sure if anything mattered, in this place. 

 

Deep, bass notes resonated against her skin and she turned, a doorway appearing before her. Through it, a garden. 

 

In front of an empty glass fountain, a young princess played the cello, tongue between her teeth. 

 

Wanda winced as the girl twisted her hand and the beautiful melody screeched to a stop. 

 

"I can't do it, Agatha! It's too hard." 

 

The princess threw her bow to the ground, anger flashing in a face still round and innocent. 

 

"Don't give up," Wanda breathed, staring at her past self. "Princess, pick it up." 

 

But the little girl stomped off, leaving the instrument on the gravel before the fountain, where it would get hopelessly scratched. 

 

That supper had been the first time Natalya had lost her temper because of Wanda. 

 

The princess had vowed to never make her mother upset again—a hopeless promise. 

 

Mother and daughter couldn't be more different. 

 

"Death certainly gives you perspective on things," a voice Wanda never thought she'd hear again said. 

 

Wanda whirled, a sob breaking from her lips as she beheld the woman before her. 

 

"Agatha!"

 

She ran to the older woman's arms, tears slipping from her scarlet-limned eyes. 

 

"My dear," Agatha sighed, resting her chin on Wanda's head. "I've heard so much about you." 

 

✶      ✶      ✶

 

Natasha stalked invisible prey in the same cyclic pattern across the frothy white marble floors of Wanda's bedchambers. She followed the same endless route her queen had, only hours before. 

 

Night had fallen and still, Wanda hadn't woken up. 

 

The shockwave would have killed Natasha (and leveled the Blue Palace and nearby city) if it weren't for the wards Thor’s witch friend had placed everywhere, from the highest spires of the palace to the crushed seashell roads of the city to the beach itself, then the hundreds of miles from the coast to the Vongastan borders. The witch had even extended the magical protection several miles out to sea, in case of a water-based attack on his new home. 

 

Natasha stopped pacing, studying her queen's sleeping form by the flickering candlelight. The fire cast strange shadows, turning Wanda's copper hair to flames of golden-red. 

 

Clint sat on the floor next to Wanda's bed, back against the wall. He watched as Natasha made her rounds in the small room, but didn't say a word. 

 

He was here, and that was enough. 

 

The witch sat on the other side of Wanda's bed, but in a chair like a normal human being. (Nat wondered if the man was actually human, though.)

 

He'd finally dozed off, after refusing to take a break for hours as he worked on Wanda. 

 

She still had scars that would never heal—physically and psychologically. 

 

But she'd live. That was all Nat could ask for. 

 

She walked to the bed, studied the sleeping witches for a heartbeat. 

 

"He should adopt her as heir to the sarcastic witch throne," Clint said, leaning his head back against the wall and gazing past the warm candlelight to the dark night outside. 

 

Nat huffed out a laugh, looking with him to the quiet darkness outside. She wished it would rain again—and under less terrible circumstances. 

 

She loved the rain. 

 

The queen's champion sat beside the king's cook, leaning her head against his shoulder. 

 

"Thank you for being here, Barton," she whispered.

 

He chuckled. "Don't get sappy on me now, Romanoff." 

 

✶      ✶      ✶

 

"Is my mother here?" Wanda asked, looking around at the garden Agatha had brought her to. She couldn't quite wrap her mind around the way the hallway had shifted, walls changing to fruit trees and mist turning to a carpet of mossy green beneath her bare feet. 

 

Shoes weren't important in the afterworld, Wanda supposed. 

 

Agatha smiled at Wanda, her eyes telling her everything. The smell of fresh apples and roses filled her head, memories rising at the once-familiar scents.

 

Natalya smells like roses. 

 

"She smelled like roses," Wanda said softly.

 

Agatha touched her hand. "I'm sorry, child. You deserve so much more." 

 

Wanda pulled on a hangnail, grateful for the sharp pain that grounded her. 

 

"I got what I deserve." 

 

She wasn’t sure why Agatha was in hell, but maybe her old handmaiden was just an illusion that would eventually fade, bringing horrors she couldn’t begin to fathom. 

 

Agatha frowned at her, mouth opening to protest (she'd always been too good to Wanda) but a surprised squawk came out instead.

 

Wanda stared at her mother's closest friend as she seemingly dissolved, body turning to blue mist that flew outward, covering the entire garden. 

 

When Wanda could see again, Natalya sat beside her. 

 

She gaped at her mother, tears filling her eyes. She wanted so badly to fall into her arms but she knew the second she did, the queen would probably vanish like she always did. 

 

"Oh, Wanda," Natalya sighed, bringing a soft, warm hand to Wanda's cheek, and she couldn't contain herself anymore. Tears slid down her cheeks and she collapsed into her mother's embrace. 

 

Her mother, who couldn't be here unless—

 

Wanda stilled, eyes widening. "You—"

 

Natalya nodded, eyes full of the same sadness currently squeezing at Wanda's heart. "I'm so sorry, Wanda. I should have been there for you. The madness was so much worse once your father and I..." Natalya took a breath, gesturing to the garden surrounding them. 

 

A sun Wanda did not know warmed her face, her back, but her blood ran ice-cold. "I don't understand," she said quietly, not thinking about how she'd been forced to grow alone all these years—before everything, if someone said something she didn't like she simply had to snap her fingers and a few sparks had them swiftly changing their tone. 

 

Not that she'd ever have tried it with her mother. Or Agatha. 

"Do you remember our magic lessons?" 

 

Despite herself, a smile tugged on Wanda's lips at the memories—her earliest memory, in fact, was of the scarlet sparks that danced across her mother's elegant hands, her soothing voice telling stories of witches and deities she could barely comprehend. As a child, those lessons had been an escape from the reality of royalty—all the crowns of the seven kingdoms would only weigh down a victim of an angry witch. 

 

So she'd learned how to summon her magic in each of its forms, and while Wanda had practiced endless magical exercises exercises (from summoning the sparks on command to levitating the same hair clip, over and over until Wanda never wanted to style her hair again) Natalya had woven a verbal tapestry so rich with historical details that Wanda never forgot the history of their people, the history of their magic.

 

So yes, it wasn't like Wanda could forget all the lessons in the garden with her mother, teacher, and friend. "Of course," she finally answered, eyes rising from her pale hands to her mother's face. Natalya's smile was so uniquely human, so melancholy that tears glimmered in Wanda's eyes once more. 

 

"I'm afraid I taught you control too well," she sighed, cupping Wanda's cheek with a warm hand. 

 

Wanda leaned into her touch, tears catching on dark lashes as her eyes fluttered shut. 

 

"There is a madness inside of you, my love. it is one of the costs of being a queen of chaos. Your magic is more than light and dark, good and bad. It is elemental, the foundation that holds our world—our universe—together. And when a young witch-queen is forced to assume responsibility too soon, mature too fast, that madness grows until, with a little prodding, it takes over the woman's mind. 

I'm sorry that this is your birthright, that along with the glory and punishment of the crown you must also face a darkness greater than you can possibly imagine—alone." 

She pulled her hand away from Wanda's cheek, and the young queen bit down the whimper that rose in her throat at the loss of contact. 

 

It was silent in the garden of the dead, not a bird call or whisper of wind through the fruit trees. "What do you mean?" Wanda asked, head spinning with the knowledge her mother was finally giving her. (She ignored the voice that hissed,  _ ironic, that both of your deaths are by magic, and only now you learn the truth.) _

 

"The madness dancing with the magic in your blood is unquenchable. Once you begin feeding it, you cannot stop. Not alone." 

 

"Are you saying that I've gone mad?"

 

Natalya sighed. “No, Wanda. But there were times you… lost control. And there were consequences.” 

 

✶      ✶      ✶

 

Natasha awoke to a strangled scream, instantly on her feet, swaying slightly as the darkness and warmth from Clint's arms threw her off-balance. He was still snoring, head back against the wall, and Strange had vanished to do whatever witches did in their spare time. (Hopefully repair any wards Wanda has damaged with her blast.)

 

Wanda was sitting up on her bed, copper curls a mess around her face, and the raw pain on her face cracked Natasha's cold heart. 

 

"It's alright, majesty, you're alright," Natasha said, going to Wanda's side. Out of the corner of her eye, Clint sat up, one hand in his jacket where she assumed he had a dagger of some kind. 

 

She knew no one believed Clint was just a cook—least of all Wanda. She knew they’d laugh when they looked back on this insane, miraculous time.

 

But she didn't laugh now—not with Wanda's haunted eyes focused on her like a lighthouse. 

 

Was Natasha lost at sea? 

 

She honestly didn't know. 

 

She had thought she'd found her ocean, long ago. 

 

But her safe harbor had turned into bloody waters, and she helpless, drowning in red.

 

"You survived," Natasha murmured, sitting on the edge of Wanda's bed. 

 

And despite the situation, despite the memories that surged like a tsunami inside of her, she smiled. 

 

If there was one thing humans were good at, it was surviving.

 

“I have to go back,” Wanda said, voice rough from screaming. The new intensity in her eyes would have frightened Nat, if she’d been a different woman, grown up as a girl who didn’t intimately know the smell of blood and pain of bone, the scream of the dying and the wail of long-past dead. 

 

“Where?” Nat asked, although she already knew the answer. It was not her queen’s time, she knew. It appeared her mother did, too.

 

“Agatha, my mother—I can’t do this without them,” Wanda said softly, looking down at her hands. 

 

Natasha had washed the blood from them, helped Strange bandage them. 

 

“What have I done,” Wanda breathed, so quiet that human ears had to strain to hear. 

Good thing Nat wasn’t completely human.

 

“You did what you thought was right, Wanda. And sometimes the magic took over, and that wasn’t your fault.” 

 

“I  _ killed  _ people, Nat,” Wanda breathed, finally looking Natasha in the eye. As a champion, she never wanted to see that horror in her queen’s eyes, but as an assassin, she understood too well. “My mother told me everything. I can’t even  _ say  _ what I did, I just — ” Wanda stopped abruptly, throat bobbing as she swallowed down the horrific words.

 

“I know,” Nat said simply. 

 

The fear in Wanda’s eyes shifted. “How long,” she demanded, voice low and dangerous. 

 

Nat pursed her lips. She hadn’t planned on telling her queen the truth so soon, but at the poorly veiled hurt in Wanda’s eyes she knew she had no choice. 

 

“I didn’t just enter the competition for an alibi while I searched for your parents’ assassins,” Nat murmured in reply, and immediately wished she could swallow her words as Wanda’s jaw feathered, eyes unreadable. 

 

But Nat had become a master at reading people, their faces, learning the unique tells of every person she met. 

Back then, it had been life or death. Now, as her mind raced to catalog and explain every twitch of Wanda’s pert nose, every sharp inhale, Nat wished she could shut it off. 

 

Just be a normal champion for a day—if there was anything normal about being a witch-queen’s protector, her right hand. 

 

Her sacrificial lamb, if need be. 

 

It scared Nat to think that if Wanda needed it—if she asked—she would sacrifice herself. She wouldn’t even question the young queen. 

 

Natasha shifted on the bed, crossing her legs, the movement forcing her back to the present. 

 

There would be no sacrifices—she’d make sure things never got that bad.  _ Never again.  _

 

“You know everything?” Nat asked, avoiding Wanda’s question. 

 

They both knew Nat had known the whole time.

 

_ Savior.  _

 

Wanda huffed out a laugh, but there was no humor in it. 

 

She didn’t think she would be laughing anytime soon, not when she knew the truth now. 

 

Her parents. Multiple nobles who’d been too close to the blast that night, or inhaled too much smoke. Ever since that night, the darkness inside her had woven spells into her people’s minds, changed what they thought was the past.  _ Natalya and Boaz are still alive, just on a long trip. Your new queen will protect you. Don't ask questions.  _

 

But every person who had pushed Wanda too hard, asked too many questions disappeared. 

 

She’d told herself they were sent away to Sadena, to work in the silver mines and learn some respect for their new queen. 

 

But once Natalya gave Wanda her memories back, the lies had been shattered.  “You don’t understand,” Wanda said, soft as a ghost. “I’m a monster.” 

 

 


	6. we create our own demons

 

 

The man with the impeccable goatee scowled at Wanda, arms crossed over the back of his chair. 

 

Wanda held his gaze, not blinking. Why every man in this country insisted on having a staring contest before introducing themselves was beyond Wanda's comprehension of the male spirit. 

 

Maybe it was a test, to see if the young queen was as bold and powerful as everyone claimed. Or maybe all the adults she'd met here were dicks with something to prove. 

 

She didn't particularly care. But that didn't mean she was going to lose a staring contest with the first witch she'd met in over five years. (She'd probably met witches during her reign after her parents' passing, but if she had they hadn't revealed themselves to her. Probably because she was a murderer.) 

 

Wanda sighed, eyes flicking to the glowing amulet around the well-dressed man's neck, and his full lips lifted into a smirk. "Your majesty. I don't believe we've met before. I'm Doctor Stephen Strange. I saved your life. And your hands." 

 

She blinked, looking down at her bandaged hands and arms. "Thank you," she said softly, heartbeat picking up as she tried to move her fingers. 

 

No response. She tried again, harder, and a flash of pain shot from her wrist to her fingertips. "Tell me what happened," she said, meeting his electric gaze once more. It was an order, and his eyes narrowed at her tone, but those ridiculously blue eyes seemed to see right through her ice-queen mask to the terrified girl inside. Natasha hadn't told her anything, just made Wanda promise that she'd rest, and not blame herself. 

 

Wanda had quite a lot to blame herself for, so Nat would have to be more specific. 

"Do you remember anything from yesterday?" the man asked in reply. 

 

"You mean when I almost killed myself and everyone nearby?" 

 

"Almost," he said pointedly, not amused at the sarcasm in her voice. "I reinforced the wards when Thor told me you were visiting."

 

"Everyone knew I was living with the days against me and death's mark on my back?" Wanda asked, voice strained. "Everyone except for me?" 

 

"They tried to tell you, Queen." 

 

She didn’t respond, studying her surroundings—the white walls of her bedchamber, the rainbow of seashells strung across them. Her mind was strangely quiet. 

 

"Can you help me?" she asked at last, everything in her wanting to run away. Shame rose in her throat—she'd always hated asking for help. She'd always believed that she had to carry the burden of her magic, her kingdom, alone. Her mother had told her to banish those thoughts—that she had to banish all doubt in order to be the queen her people needed.

 

"When your magic was finally released," the man began, and Wanda turned her gaze to him, for the first time feeling the wonder of not having to shove thoughts of her mother deep down. 

 

Her grief had changed, probably because she now knew the truth. It still hurt—she suspected it always would—but differently. She no longer had to hide from it. 

 

Strange rubbed at his shoulder through the beige fabric of his shirt, and Wanda studied his large hand curiously. She wondered if his body ached the way hers did, after she used her magic. "It exploded against my wards. This prevented the pent-up energy from ravishing the palace and city." 

 

Wanda nodded, feeling cold. She wished she could never use her magic again—but that wish was what had created this mess in the first place. 

 

The witch continued, either not noticing the deadness in her eyes or deciding not to comment on it. She didn't know which was worse. "This saved Vongasta. However, the energy had nowhere to go, to be released. So it went back to you. Not inside you, of course—the laws of magic don't work that way. But against you, flinging itself at its maker. Magic can be capricious, that way." He chuckled softly, looking down at his own hands. 

 

Wanda wanted to throw something at the strange witch—would have, in fact, if her hands were up to task. There was a large conch shell on the bedside table to her right that looked satisfyingly heavy. 

 

"So the magic just ripped my hands apart?" She demanded, lifting the offending limbs and wincing as another dull ache spread across her palms. 

 

Strange (funny name, for a witch) frowned, making a "so-so" gesture with his hand. 

 

Wanda swallowed back a glare. Once her hands healed, she'd be slapping Strange across the face. For now, she'd do her best to act queenly. (Although with the way Natalya had sometimes acted, she wasn't sure what the word really meant.)

 

"It does look like the magic mainly rebounded to your hands. Possibly because that's where it came from, but I'm not sure. If my husband was here, he'd probably have a few theories." 

 

Wanda's ears perked up, although she wasn't sure who would marry the devilishly attractive man once he'd opened his mouth. 

 

At least he had found happiness in someone else. There had been a time when people who loved those of their own sex had been punished, beaten and exiled. But once Sarah, the first queen of the Sokovians—crudely called gypsies—became ruler, the hateful laws ended and true peace reigned. Queens could take a female consort, although people like her father protested because of the need for an heir. 

 

Panic went through Wanda at the thought. Just the idea of fucking a man made her want to throw up. Raising a child  _ and _ ruling a nation? 

 

Only the thought of Natasha's calm blue eyes wrapped peace around her thundering heart. She'd think about what that meant later. (As in never.) 

 

"Anyways. I was going to change your wraps. You can close your eyes, it's a little..." Strange trailed off, lips twitching. "Gruesome." 

 

Wanda swallowed hard. "I think I can manage." 

 

She held out her hands, hating that she needed the help, but swallowing her pride. She told herself that a good queen admitted when she needed aid—like her mother. 

 

She also supposed that people would tell her to stop idolizing Natalya (Pietro had, many times) but she couldn't. 

 

Natalya was everything Wanda wished she could be. Yes, sometimes her mother lost her temper, and she always put her children above her consort. (Which wasn't exactly a problem to Wanda) but she had been a good queen and a wonderful witch. She'd always helped her people, always watched over those in need. 

 

Wanda had killed her people. 

 

"It will get easier," Strange said, and Wanda blinked to see the witch unwrapping her bandages. She hadn't felt his gentle touch, and she stared at his strangely scarred hands, not knowing how to respond to his words.

 

"The grief," he explained, hands stopping their movements. "It will not shrink, but you will grow." 

 

Wanda nodded, eyes hollow. He studied her for a long moment, then pulled off the bandages completely, revealing—

 

Nothing. 

 

No blood, no "gruesome" scars. 

 

She stared at her hands, flexing her fingers accusingly.

 

Pain, sharp as ice, shot up her arms. 

 

"What's wrong with me?" she demanded, turning her hands over. 

 

Her breath caught as two blood-red runes gleamed up at her, one on each wrist. 

 

They were burned into her, the skin around the swirls darkened, and she knew without Strange saying a word that they'd never come off. 

 

"You will regain use of your hands," he said quietly, something like sadness in his voice that she hadn't heard from him yet. 

 

She looked up, not at his face, but at the witch's own hands, the strange scars on his fingers. 

 

"There was an accident," he said softly. "Not like yours, but..." he trailed off, lifting a hand and studying the pale marks. "I wanted to be a doctor." 

 

"You still are," she said, and he smiled ruefully as she nodded to the bandages on her lap. Then her gaze turned back to her wrists, the alien runes. "What do these mean?" 

 

Strange took a deep breath, and Wanda suspected he was preparing to give another magical lecture. She wasn’t wrong. 

 

"The wards reflected your magic back to you. Magic is infinite; like energy, it follows the planet's natural laws and cannot be created or destroyed, only reused. So, every spell you've cast since you were a child was sent into the earth, the wind, the sea. But when your magic started to control you the last five years, it did so without you noticing. This caused a buildup of power, like magma trapped in a lava vent. It all had to come out eventually."

 

“And the effects would be disastrous,” Wanda said, eyes shuttered. 

 

Strange was quiet for a moment. “Some would say so,” he said at last. “Anyway, your wrists. The runes are from the first chaos alphabet, which makes sense because your magic is from the god of chaos. The one on your left wrist is the rune for water, and can be roughly translated to freedom, or unbinding from a sort of cage or prison. The one on your right is the rune for earth, and some say it also means control or protection. Your magic seems to have a sense of humor.” 

 

Wanda blinked. “Truly hilarious.”

 

He shrugged. “Everyone needs a reminder for something.” 

 

And Wanda’s reminder was in the form of two symbols from an archaic alphabet carved into her skin. 

 

She’d much rather have a chat about magic, be gently reminded about control and the cost of losing it.  

 

Well. It was too late for wishes now. 

 

"I wanted to wait until you woke up to give you something for the pain," Strange said after a heartbeat of silence. He nodded to a mug on the bedside table. “Bittersweet tea. Your champion said you're familiar with it?" 

 

A ghost of a smile played across Wanda’s lips at the memory. "Yes, I used it after I'd been poisoned, when we were traveling through the forest to get here. It works very well." 

 

Strange hummed. "Indeed. Would you like me to—" 

 

"I've got it," Wanda said quickly, smiling at him a little too forcefully. 

 

For his credit, he just nodded, standing and pushing his chair to the side. "I hope to see you soon for lessons, majesty.”

 

"Lessons?" Wanda looked up from where she was slowly reaching over to the mug, masking a wince each time her fingers flexed. 

 

"Yes," he replied, turning with his hand on the door. "Your champion believes you could use a few on control. She's right outside, in fact. Shall I send her in?" 

 

Wanda resisted rolling her eyes. She'd  _ show _ Natasha control. And that was a promise. But she nodded, smiling at Strange genuinely this time. "Thank you." 

 

Strange laughed darkly, opening the door. "Thank me when you've killed Declan with your magic." 

 

Wanda frowned, lips pursing. She didn't want to think about killing anyone on today of all days, but then Natasha walked in and all thoughts of murder flew out of her head like butterflies. 

 

Those butterflies flew right back down her throat as Natasha smiled softly at her, sitting in the chair Strange had just vacated. "How's my queen feeling?" 

 

Wanda shrugged, showed Nat the strange runes on her wrists. "Strange told me they meant something about freedom and control."

 

Nat's lips curved up into a smile. "You're the strongest person I've ever met." 

 

Wanda's eyes widened.  "I—I don't—what?" she stammered, heat rising in her cheeks. Nat couldn’t be talking about  _ her— _ Wanda was a fucking mess. 

 

And now the woman she'd dreamed about for years gave Wanda a compliment that could only be about her champion? 

 

Nat laughed softly at the flustered queen, picking up the mug and lifting it to Wanda's lips. 

 

Wanda drank obediently, gulping down the steaming liquid to avoid meeting her champion's knowing eyes. 

 

"Thank you," she gasped after she'd taken a few gulps, going to wipe her mouth with the back of her hand when obnoxiously familiar pain made her cry out. She swore, eyes narrowing at her hands. 

 

"You'd think the gods would make my life a little easier, just once," Wanda sighed. 

 

Natasha offered her more tea, but she shook her head. "It's fine. Strange said it'll heal eventually." 

 

Natasha raised a perfect brow. Fuck, why did the woman have to be so gods-damned attractive? The gods really did have it out for her, spinning her life into a tangled mess and giving her a champion she couldn't— _ shouldn't _ fall for. Sometimes she hated life. If she ever met the girl, she'd slap her. 

 

But then again, life was probably a beautiful woman, and Wanda would much rather kiss her.

 

"What?" Wanda croaked, blinking at Natasha. Her champion had said something, but she'd been quite occupied by thoughts of soft lips that tasted like raspberries. 

 

"I said I'll reward you if you finish this," Nat said, a mischievous spark in her ocean eyes. 

 

_ Fuck.  _

 

Wanda gulped down the tea like it was the elixir of immortality, and she a thirsty alchemist. 

 

The mug was empty in a heartbeat, and Wanda looked up to Nat's laughing eyes. 

 

"Perfect," she said softly, taking the mug from Wanda's aching fingers.  _ Gods,  _ she wanted Nat to say that again. About her, specifically. Wanda blinked hard, a sudden yawn sneaking up her throat. 

 

"Get some rest," Natasha murmured, reaching up to brush a lock of copper hair behind Wanda's ear. 

 

Wanda's heart pounded against her ribcage, the organ feeling a few beats away from leaping out of her chest and into Natasha's hands. 

 

Gods, she needed a nap. 

 

Her eyes fluttered shut, and she forced them open, scowling. "What did he put in the tea?" 

 

Nat snorted, her hand falling back to her lap. Wanda mourned the loss of contact. 

 

"Something to help you sleep. We'll be busy tomorrow, Strange is going to teach you to control your magic. He also has a scrying glass, in case you'd like to talk to Pietro."

 

Excitement flared in her chest despite the heaviness pulling on her limbs. "That would—"  _ be nice,  _ the young queen tried to say, but her dreams had already whisked her away from reality. 

 

✶      ✶      ✶

 

Wanda crept down the dimly lit halls of the blue palace, freezing every time she heard the creak of a door hinge or the low murmur of voices. But she passed no one, and slipped out of the palace unhindered. 

 

It was dark as a selkie's pelt outside, the only light coming from dim lanterns, hovering like ghosts in the garden, and the curled lip of the half-moon above her. 

 

She walked out of the garden, following the crushed-shell path to the sand. (She really should have worn shoes. But she doubted Sarah—or Nat for that matter—had ever stopped to pull on slippers before going on midnight adventures.)

 

She stopped for a moment on the crest of a pale dune, shining in the moonlight. Tiamat reflected the moon’s smile in her serene waves, the black water slow and steady. 

 

Wanda walked down the sand to the shoreline, unwrapping her bandages as she did. Her hands still hurt—alternating between a horrible aching and needle-sharp pain like something was drilling into her very bones—but she ignored the pain the way she'd learned to ignore anything she felt.

 

Maybe some things in her past would prove useful, with time. 

 

They had to—otherwise, what was the point? 

 

The sand became cold and damp beneath her feet, but she did not stop, kept walking until snow-cold water rushed past her ankles. Her bandages fluttered behind her like wings, like gossamer in the wind. 

 

"Hello, Tiamat," Wanda said quietly, barely hearing herself over the lullaby of the waves and roar of the wind. She wasn't sure if the ocean goddess could hear her, but she spoke anyways. 

 

"My hands," she said, and just... couldn't continue. 

 

She bit down on the inside of her cheek as tears welled in her eyes. 

 

She choked out a laugh. "I didn't want to cry. But here I am." 

 

She walked deeper, letting the water caress her calves, her thighs. 

 

She accepted that the water would be the only lover she'd ever know. 

 

She accepted that she wasn't her mother, that she couldn't be the woman-queen-mother-warrior-witch Natalya had been and would remain, in Wanda's heart. 

 

She accepted herself—scars and all.

 

Wanda dove into the dark water, the small, rational part of her brain telling her that she was being an idiot and was going to die of hypothermia or get eaten by a sea monster.

 

Well. Then she could tell Pietro she'd met his favorite animal (besides horses, of course) and when they met again in the afterlife, where Tiamat's waters rolled endlessly and the water washed away all sins, they'd be friends again. 

 

_ You will be friends now,  _ a voice said, and it sounded like seagulls crying as they flew along the shoreline at sunrise, like the thunder and lightning meeting the sea in an eternal kiss. 

 

She'd heard the voice before, in Agatha. In her mother.

 

Most recently, in her head when a wave knocked her on her ass during the priestess's tidal ceremony, and Wanda had been freezing but felt the strangest all-consuming feeling of peace. Of love. 

 

She'd never felt anything like it before. 

 

And now the sea was talking to her. 

 

Wanda surged up for air, gulping down the salty oxygen that stung her lungs, leaving her breathless. 

 

"How do you know?" she asked the waves, panicking only slightly when she realized she could no longer reach the sandy bottom with her feet. 

 

The ocean swelled around her, cradling her like a newborn, and Wanda stilled, bringing her hands above the water.

 

In the icy water, the pain had eased, and she could move her fingers without vicious flashes of pain running up her arms and making her vision hazy. 

 

Her question got no answer, but Wanda had the sense the ocean was laughing as it— _ she _ —turned Wanda around so she was facing the shore. 

 

_ Go _ , Tiamat said in that wonderful not-voice.  _ Come back when you are ready to learn.  _

 

"Learn what?" Wanda demanded, staggering as the waves shoved her to her feet on the wet sand. She glared at the ocean, shivering now, "Can you teach me to control my powers?" 

 

No answer but the gentle slap of waves against the sand, against her toes. 

 

Wanda sighed, looking up at the stars, outshined by the brilliant moon. 

 

The stars were different here. 

 

Something splashed in the corner of her eye, and she turned to it, taking a cautious step back. (Sea monsters were still on her mind—just a little bit. Gods, imagine. The vicious witch-queen of Sokovia swallowed whole by a sea monster. Ridiculous.) 

 

But she recognized that silhouette, the dark hair plastered to that wickedly lovely face. 

 

Her champion trudged through the dark water, the waves seeming to part before her. 

 

Wanda rushed to her, ignoring the sparks of pain in her stiff ankles as she ran through the shallow water. "Nat!'

 

The woman looked up, face strained as she struggled to shore. 

 

There was a dark stain on her beige shirt, and it looked like it was spreading, unfurling like a deathly flower. 

 

"You're hurt," Wanda gasped, reaching for Nat's chest. 

 

The immortal shook her head. "Most of it is his," she panted, still striding forwards. (She does not stop. She doesn’t seem to be able to.)

 

"His?" 

 

Wanda looked down to the thing in Natasha's hands. 

 

She'd assumed Nat was just struggling because she was tired. (Did immortals get tired? She'd have to ask her sometime.) 

 

Wanda was wrong. She gasped again, hands flying to her mouth to muffle a cry as she beheld the thing in Natasha's grip. 

 

It was a head. 

 

A human head, attached to a human body. 

 

"I'll explain when we're inside," her champion said grimly. 

 

Wanda walked beside her in silence until they made it to dry sand, and then Natasha dropped the body (corpse? she couldn't tell if the person was breathing, in the darkness) and pressed her hands to her thighs, panting. 

 

Wanda stared at Nat's horrible cargo. 

 

"Natasha," she started, and she hadn't used her champion's full name in what felt like years. (Not that she'd  _ known  _ the woman's name five years ago.) 

 

"Don't. We can't talk out here. They have eyes everywhere." She jerked her head back to the sea, and Wanda followed her gaze. 

 

For a moment, all she saw was the dark star-speckled sky reflected in the pale-foam water. And then Nat pointed, and dread made Wanda's heart drop to her stomach. 

 

There was a ship, burning on the horizon.

 

Wanda looked back to her champion, who was stooping to grab the body by its short hair, dark locks twisted in an iron fist, and they started walking. 

 

Wanda wanted answers to her questions yesterday—starting with why the hell her champion was going swimming with assassins past midnight. But she just took a deep breath, the cold breeze blowing off the water soothing her aching lungs. 

 

Natasha said nothing, still breathing hard from whatever the hell she'd been doing while her queen was asleep, and Wanda cast worried looks to her face, her chest, where she swore the stain was growing. 

 

But she kept her concerns and her anger to herself. Oh yes, Wanda was quite angry. And the second Nat dropped off her captive to the dungeons (or wherever the hell the Vongastan rulers kept captives that immortals caught in the fucking ocean) Wanda would whirl on Nat with some very strongly worded statements. 

 

Like,  _ your job is to protect me, not fuck off to the fucking ocean in the middle of the night and turn up with a dead body! And why didn't you  _ tell  _ me?  _

 

That second thought made Wanda's stomach twist. She didn't care what Nat did in her free time. (Although why the champion wouldn't just sleep was beyond her. Sleep was the best part of Wanda's week.) 

 

After a short pause while Nat caught her breath, hands on her hips, she picked the man back up—again, by the hair—and Wanda followed, stumbling in the dark across the shifting sands. 

 

They were silent until they reached the gardens. 

 

Nat walked down a seashell pathway, rose bush hedges on either side like the Sokovian-style maze in the gardens of Wanda’s palace.

 

Wanda felt a strange twinge of homesickness, but pushed it down. Not unhealthily, like she'd been pushing all her emotions away for the past several years. But just for tonight, something she could think about later in the privacy of her lavender-scented chambers. 

 

Now she had to be strong, for Natasha.  _ And for yourself,  _ she heard her mother say, and Wanda's lips curled into a weak smile. "Yes, mother."

 

"What?" Natasha said, turning to look back at her. 

 

Wanda wished she could paint this moment: her beautiful, unstoppable champion, standing in a moonlit garden, a prisoner at her feet. 

 

"Nothing," Wanda said, wishing she didn't blush so easily. 

 

But red tinted her cheeks, and she hoped it was dark enough that Natasha wouldn't notice. (She wasn't sure if that would be good enough, though—Natasha noticed everything.) 

 

How could she explain to her champion that she was talking to her dead mother—and about her champion, because she just wanted Natasha to be proud of her? 

 

She smiled at Natasha, but the woman had already started walking again. She sighed and followed, wished for once that she wasn't so good at lying and the woman could just pick her up in her strong arms and  _ make _ her tell the truth. 

 

Shivers ran up Wanda's spine at the thought. 

 

She swallowed, and was almost grateful at the sight of Clint, sprawled on a bench at the end of the path, to shake her from her entirely inappropriate thoughts. 

 

He perked up as they approached, standing up, but Wanda had no doubts that the man had actually been unguarded. She wouldn't expect anything less from one of Natasha's close friends. (Gods, she wanted to know what had happened between them. And if there was any chance of Wanda—)

 

"He still alive?" Clint asked, and Wanda watched as Natasha nodded. 

 

"For now." 

 

✶      ✶      ✶

 

"No, Wanda, I want you to stay here," Natasha was saying, frustration rising in her voice. 

 

_ Finally,  _ a terrible part of Wanda thought as she scowled up at her champion, arms crossed. "And I want to come with you. You can't protect me from things like this all the time." 

 

"Yes, I can. It's my job." The room was awkwardly tense, Clint and the Vongastans he'd gathered trying not to watch the young queen and her champion argue.

 

Natasha turned to leave, and Wanda grabbed her arm. 

 

She saw Clint wince out of the corner of her eye, and a wicked rush pulsed through her. 

 

_ Get mad,  _ that voice begged.  _ Show something.  _

 

And she did—there was a flash of rage Wanda had never seen Natasha direct at her in those stormy eyes. 

 

"Fine," she snapped, yanking the door open and stalking through it, Wanda still clinging to her. 

 

The second they were out of the council room and Nat had slammed the door shut, she whirled on Wanda, ripping her hand off of her arm. 

 

Wanda winced as Nat squeezed her still-aching fingers. 

 

She'd forgotten to put her bandages back on, like an idiot. 

 

Natasha glowered. "You're still injured! Gods, if you weren't my queen I'd knock you out and  _ drag _ you back to your chambers. Probably would tie you to your bed, too, for good measure." 

 

Wanda blinked at the image—she did  _ not  _ need to think about a beautiful woman wrapping rope around her wrists,  _ naked _ . 

 

Fuck. 

 

"—probably like that, wouldn't you," Natasha growled, rubbing her eyes, and Wanda shifted, cheeks reddening. (She was always blushing, nowadays. Seemed to be a side effect of being in the company of women like Natasha.) 

 

Gods, she loved when Nat studied her with those ocean-gray eyes. She felt like she was being examined from the soul out, and it was exhilarating.

 

Wanda didn't respond, just looked at her feet. Then Natasha's, where her captive assassin was being guarded by two Vongastan soldiers, hands on their sword hilts. 

 

"If you'll lead us to the dungeons," Nat said politely to them, turning from Wanda, mask slipping on as easily as breathing. 

 

(Not that that was easy for Wanda, with Nat around.) 

 

The guards nodded, the female soldier glancing to Wanda for a moment before picking up the captive—who still hadn't woken, Wanda wondered what Nat  _ did  _ to him—and starting off down the hall. 

 

It felt different, walking down the halls of the Blue Palace at night. Like it should be forbidden, for some reason. 

 

She studied the walls as they walked in silence. The mosaics looked different in relief of darkness and fire. The scenes flickered strangely in the lamplight, faces of gods and monsters popping out at her in unnatural colors. 

 

They walked down two flights of stairs, and Wanda assumed they’d gone underground as the air turned cold and strangely humid. The walls were empty, which for some reason was more frightening than epic scenes of hell or torture. 

 

"You want an interrogation room," the female guard said. It wasn’t a question, but Nat nodded anyway.

 

"Thank you," she said as they stopped before an iron door—the only door in this hallway, Wanda realized. "We should be done in half an hour." 

 

Wanda raised a brow at the confidence in Natasha's words, and realized there is still so much Wanda did not know. About Natasha, about the world. 

 

Clint had warned her about coming to the dungeon with Natasha while her champion had swiftly briefed the Vongasta. 

 

"There are things you don't want to know about a person," Clint had said, eyes on Natasha's face, watching her intense gaze as she spoke lowly to Nicholas and the royals. "Well, you think you want to know. But once you see something like that, you can't take it back. The picture will always be there, burned into your head." His eyes held sadness Wanda wished she could take from him, shove into whoever had scarred him so. If only the world worked that way. 

 

She'd follow Natasha to the ends of the earth, to the farthest reaches of the universe. and she’s started to think that Natasha would do the same for her. 

 

"So this is the dungeon?" Wanda asked, and maybe she wanted to steel herself for a moment before the guards open the huge iron door. Nat jumped slightly, at her side, and Wanda smirked at her. Natasha narrowed her eyes, but her gaze was playful. 

 

"Our people do not commit crimes," the female guard said, glancing back to the two foreigners. 

 

Wanda nodded, disbelieving, and glanced to Nat, who shook her head minutely. She'd have to ask her another time.  _ In private,  _ the traitorous part of her says gleefully. 

 

Well, they'd be close to private once they walked into whatever waited behind the iron door. Wanda had the strangest urge to reach out and touch it, but held back. 

 

She knew iron and magic didn't go well together, and with both her hands and her magic in their respective precarious states, she didn't want to push her already shitty luck. 

 

(Maybe her life would start looking up, now that she had a warrior and an ocean-goddess on her side. And a cook with too many talents, a spymaster with one eye, and a pair of overly generous nobles. She was set for life.) 

 

The male guard unlocked the door and shoved it open, gloved fingers hesitating for a heartbeat before flexing against the hard metal. 

 

Wanda noticed the minute hesitation, and she was sure Natasha did too. It didn't make her feel any better about whatever they were about to walk into. 

 

"You want us in there with you?" the female guard asked. Wanda studied her for the first time. She was beautiful, ebony skin almost glowing in the firelight, strong nose and jaw complimented by soft brown eyes. 

 

Gods. She was attracted to any older woman in a uniform. 

 

"No," Natasha said, and Wanda wondered if the champion had read her mind (she really did wonder that, quite frequently) until she realized she was talking to the guards.

They both nodded curtly, and Natasha stepped inside, Wanda following. "We'll be right outside," the woman said, and Wanda wished she'd got her name. "Call if you need anything." 

 

The male guard dropped the captive onto the stone floor, and Wanda winced as his knees thudded against the cold ground. He'd definitely have bruises in the morning—if he lasted that long.

 

Wanda shuddered at the thought, but then the guard was shutting the door, a strange smile on his face, and Wanda was wondering if she'd made the right decision in following Nat. 

 

It was a hard thing to wonder. But Wanda's life had become an increasingly hard series of moments that only gotten worse, until Nat. 

 

By the gods, her heart was the messiest contradiction she'd ever had the misfortune to know.


	7. haunted

 

Wanda now understood why Clint warned her about descending with Nat—how it could be seen as a literal descent of the soul, how she started feeling like once they left the dungeon, a part of her would always remain there—and why Nat herself hadn't wanted her to come. 

 

But she was here now, and she'd stopped flinching every time her champion struck or slapped or stabbed the man tethered to the chair in the center of the room—the only piece of furniture, aside from the metal table shoved against the wall that Wanda was currently perched on. She had the feeling that she'd collapse if she wasn't sitting down. 

 

"Tell me about Declan," Nat growled, and of course her champion was scary but never like  _ this _ . 

 

This was something else, something Wanda never wanted to encounter against her. 

 

Even more frightening than Natasha, however, was her prisoner. 

 

The man only laughed in response to each question, and Wanda could tell Nat was starting to get frustrated. 

 

It was barely noticeable, only in the slight tightening around her eyes and clench of her jaw when her demands were met with wheezing laughter. 

 

The laughter stopped suddenly, and Wanda looked up to see the man slumped in his chair, and Nat stalking towards her, the ice in her eyes slowly melting. 

 

"Are you alright?" she asked softly, brow furrowed with concern, eyes like a raw slab of kyonite, scanning her face. "If you want to leave, you can." 

 

Wanda shook her head. "I'm—" 

 

A hoarse, broken laugh grated against her eardrums. 

 

Nat took a deep breath and turned slowly, stalking up to her prey like a panther, lithe and silent on the stone floor. 

 

Wanda stared at the soulless eyes of the man laughing at her, the blood streaming from his nose, dripping into his mouth.

 

He didn’t seem to mind. Seemed to almost enjoy it. "Untie me, and I'll help you get comfortable," he rasped, and Wanda's fingers curled into a fist, the pain grounding her and keeping her from punching the man. Not that Nat would mind, but she didn't want to get blood on her shirt. 

 

Natasha leaned over the man, pressing her forearm into his throat until he was gasping for breath. "Don't speak to your queen that way."

 

She kept pressing against the base of his throat, and Wanda started to wonder if this was the first time she’d witness someone die in front of her since  _ that _ night. 

 

Then the iron door creaked open, and Nat releases her hold on the would-be assassin, wiping off blood from her arm with a grimace. 

 

Clint stood in the doorway, concern creasing his forehead. "He talking yet?" 

 

"Not anything the princess likes," the man croaked, and Natasha kicked him in the stomach without taking her eyes from Clint's. 

 

Wanda gained a twisted pleasure from hearing the prisoner choke on his breath. She wondered how Natasha dealt with that side of herself—because it's obvious there was plenty Wanda still had to learn. 

 

Clint stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him, and Wanda doesn't like the look in his eyes. Like he was about to do something very brilliant or very stupid. 

 

"Wanda," he starts softly, leaning against the door. She slides off the table and walks up to him, and can sense Nat right behind her. "You can use your magic to pull things from people, right?" 

 

Fear sliced through Wanda's mind, as cold and painful as being cut with a hawk's talons. (She'd know, once Pietro had brought an injured hawk home and it hadn't exactly liked Wanda.) 

 

"You can't ask me to do that," she said, shaking her head.  _ She can't.  _

 

Wanda's eyes were wide, horror curling in her gut. She wanted to run into a dark corner and become unseen, unknown. She hated the terror rising inside her, but it's better than the alternative. 

 

Pleasure at the thought. 

 

The same magical torture she'd inflicted on her people.

 

It didn't matter that she wasn't aware of her actions at the time—they'd still happened.

 

And she'd die before it happened again. 

 

"Nat, please," Wanda said, turning to her champion, feeling Clint's eyes on her front and the prisoner's deathly glare at her back. 

 

Nothing mattered but Nat.

 

Nat nodded, brushing her fingertips across Wanda's trembling hands. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to," she said firmly, glancing back to Clint before her eyes settled on Wanda's. 

 

Clint jerks his head sharply in a nod, hands on his hips. "Okay. It was just an idea. No one's going to make you do anything you don’t want to, Majesty." 

 

She smiled weakly at him. "I know. I'm sorry." 

 

He shook his head, frowning. "Don't be. We all have our limits. We just need to find his." 

 

Clint ambled up to the prisoner, hands still on his hips, and Wanda leaned into Nat's comforting touch. 

 

"Thank you," she breathed. 

 

Nat just tightened her grip on Wanda, and the queen knew she'd never let go. 

 

Gods, that made her feel strong in ways she couldn't explain. Like she could topple mountains with her bare hands, send cities to their knees.

 

But that strength hid when the bound man snarled, "pathetic," eyes venomous as he glared at Wanda. "You call yourself a—" 

 

Nat whirled, squeezing Wanda's arm, but Clint was already leaning over the man, gripping his jaw between his fingers. 'You don't get to speak to her. You don't get to speak at all, you slimy piece of shit. You're the pathetic one, you coward. Can't even kill your target without legions of backup and a ship full of death-magic.

 

Well, your ship is ashes, and your friends are dead. So if you don't start talking, I'll start taking fingers." 

 

"He has a collection," Nat interjected, and there was a wolf's smile on her lips. 

 

Wanda nodded, trying to keep her face impassive. (But gods, it was hard.  _ Fingers?) _

 

The smile the prisoner threw her way sent shards of ice across her skin. "I'll speak to the bitch however I like."

 

He yanked his jaw out of Clint's grip, opening his mouth wider than any human should be able to. Dark smoke poured from his mouth, wrapping around Clint's neck like a shadowy gauntlet. 

 

Natasha rushed to Clint's side, yanking daggers out of her tunic and hurling them at the man—who was no longer a man. 

 

Standing on top of the chair the prisoner had been tied to was a horrific mix between a man and massive crow—a bird's head and cavernous black wings that seemed to take up the whole room, secondary feathers brushing the ceiling. 

 

"Hello, princess," the thing croaked, and the high-pitched, malevolent voice sounded at-once far away and right beside Wanda's ear. 

 

She flinched, taking a step back, heart flying to her throat when Clint fell to the ground like a broken doll. Natasha stood before the monster, unsheathing a third knife. 

 

The two she'd thrown had embedded themselves in its chest, but the creature just laughed darkly, a sound Wanda never wanted to hear again. 

 

"Tell Declan I'm sick of his games," Natasha snarled, stepping in close to slice at the creature's neck. 

 

A mistake—he (it?) wrapped a skeletal wing around her, pulling her flush to his chest. Feathers fluttered to the ground as Natasha tore at the monster, struggling like a an animal caught in a cage. 

 

Wanda stared, powerless and frozen with terror. She had to  _ do _ something, fling herself at the monster, force her aching hands to shoot chaos at the demon, but she couldn't move. 

 

Couldn't breathe, as the demon snarled, "Tell him yourself, little  _ aranya.  _ He's on his way as we speak." 

 

"No!" Natasha shouted, and at his words there was true fear in her eyes.  _ Do it,  _ she mouthed to Wanda, directing her gaze to Wanda's trembling hands.  _ Now.  _

 

Wanda opened her fists, breathing in deep, and the creature tightened its hold on Natasha. 

 

She cried out, and Wanda's eyes flew to her just as the demon snarled, "useless bitch," and bit down on the space where her shoulder and neck muscles met. 

 

Wanda never wanted to hear Nat scream that way again; agonized and ripped from her throat. She knew the woman could handle pain, and she didn't want to imagine the pain her champion was going through now as the demon tore its beak from her trapezius muscles and released her. 

 

Nat collapsed to the floor, groaning as she pressed a hand to the deep slash through her leather tunic, blood bubbling between her fingers. 

 

Wanda growled, slamming her wrists together and then flinging her hands outwards as she advanced on the monster. The runes burned into her body flared, harnessing the magic in her bones, and she raised her hands and  _ shoved  _ her chaos energy at the demon. 

 

It slammed into the copper-stained stone, beak clacking, and Wanda grinned viciously, ready to add the demon's blood to the collection on the wall.

 

But the thing just laughed, lifting up its horrible head to stare at her with yellow eyes. "Your magic brought us here, little queen. And by Chaos, it tastes delicious." 

 

A black tongue darted past the opening of the creature's massive beak, and Wanda grimaced, fingers twisting as she started murmuring an incantation. (She was glad her mother had made her drill the various spells and hexes throughout her childhood, although as a nine-year-old she'd questioned if she'd ever need to exorcise a tengu demon. Unfortunately, she now had an answer to her younger self's question. And many others, that only children of chaos would wonder.)

 

"That won't work on me, little one," the demon hissed, and the use of the nickname that only Natasha had the right to say so enraged Wanda that she stopped her ancient spell and slammed her hands against the creature's chest, shoving her magic past the scarred skin and into its heart. 

 

"Declan will end you, and he will enjoy it," the creature hissed, convulsing as Wanda's magic neared his heart. 

 

She sent one final surge of power before taking away her hands, cringing at the marks they'd left—two human handprints, fingers splayed towards the demon's neck. 

 

Its wing came up before she could protect herself, and she gasped, vision going dark for a moment as the talons hidden at the end of the demon's wings slashed her thigh. 

 

She staggered, one hand going to her wound, the other sending a pulse of raw power at the thing's head. 

 

It let out a low gurgle and was still. 

 

Wanda stared at it for a heartbeat, watching the prone form slumped against the wall, dark liquid trickling down its beak. 

 

Yellow eyes still stared at her, and she knew they'd haunt her sleep.

 

She shook herself, whirling to Nat, who was struggling to sit up, hand pressing down on her wound. 

 

"We have to get out of here," Wanda urged, dropping to her knees in front of Natasha and pressing her wrists together once more. The runes glowed as she pulled her hands apart and brought them to Nat's shoulder, fingertips hovering above Nat's bloody hand. 

 

"Let's hope this works," she muttered grimly, pulling Nat's hand away and pressing her own palms over the gouge. She cringed, glancing to Nat's face for a reaction. 

 

There was nothing in Nat's eyes—no pain, no terror, no awareness of where she was—and that terrified Wanda more than her champion's screams. 

 

Power poured from Wanda's fingertips over Nat's wound, and still the woman didn't make a sound. 

 

A few seconds later, a red-tinted shield of sorts lay across her champion's shoulder, compressing the wound. Hopefully it would slow or stop the bleeding until Wanda could find a healer. 

 

"Okay, don't move," Wanda ordered, once she was certain her makeshift bandage would stay in place. She scrambled on her knees to Clint, who was curled up on his side, eyes closed. 

 

"Hey. Wake up, you bastard," Wanda growled, shaking him. 

 

He groaned, and Wanda nearly cried with relief. She didn't know what it was, but there was just something about the fake cook, and she couldn't lose him now. (Or ever.) 

 

"Are you hurt?" 

 

Wanda scanned his face, his neck. 

 

There was a dark ring of bruises along the base of his throat, presumably from the demon's vile smoke. "You're going to be fine," she said, patting his leather-covered chest. She wanted a jacket like that. 

 

(Couldn't wear it around Pietro, though. He'd have a heart attack at the thought of so much leather used for fashion.) 

 

"Okay. We need to get Nat to a healer," she said aloud, although she doubted her comrades were in any shape to pay her any mind. 

 

She could forgive them this once. 

 

"Wanda?" her favorite voice in the world said. 

 

She turns, eyes wide as she takes in the sight of her champion struggling to her feet, hand cautiously touching the shield Wanda had woven with her magic. 

 

"You okay to walk?" Wanda asked, sparks trailing from her fingertips. She paid them no mind. A flick of her wrist, and Clint was in the air, still in the same fetal position. She looked at him for a moment, smiling as he yawned, squeezing his eyes shut tight, then looked back to Nat. 

 

Her champion's face was death-white, eyes bright as elf-blood against it. "Wanda," Nat started to say, and then her legs gave out. 

 

Wanda held her up with her magic, rushing back to her side. 

 

Her hands protested as she caught her champion, sparks fizzing against Nat's tunic. 

 

She ignored the pain (she’d gotten very good at it) and lifted Nat into her arms, hissing at the effort. 

 

She kicked the iron door open, peeking out. 

 

The hall was empty—no guards, no demons. 

 

She was grateful for the latter, but suspicious of the former. 

 

She could try calling for help, but she didn’t know if it will come. How long had they spent in this horrible place, her champion torturing her captive and the man becoming monstrous? 

 

It felt like years. 

 

She took a deep breath, steeling herself, and trudged down the corridor, using her magic to boost Nat up in her arms. (One day she’d be strong enough to carry a person without help. Today is not that day.)

 

A thought, and Clint was following her out of the small room, floating on air like a bird atop a cloud. 

 

Now what? 

 

She bit down on her lower lip, sharp pain forcing her to focus. 

 

She was the only conscious person in the creepy hallway—she hoped the guards weren't dead, but she knew better than to hope for things like that after everything she’d experienced. 

 

Nat was bleeding all over her dress, Clint was in the god of sleep, Morpheus’ unyielding embrace, and she was alone. Again. 

 

She marched forward, huffing out a breath as Nat groaned in her arms. 

 

Thoughts like that would only paralyze her. She just had to come up with a plan—she was good at that. 

 

She heard Pietro's mocking laughter in her head at the thought. (He'd always been the big party planner. She'd been the one hiding in her room, reading.)

 

Okay—first things first, get help for her friends. And not get attacked by any more fucking demons. 

 

She doubted it was safe to be hauling her comrades through the dim palace halls when a demon had just tried to kill them, but she had no choice. 

 

She was tired of hiding, of waiting for a savior. 

 

She'd be the one saving the day this time. 

 

She kicked open the door to the wider, somehow warmer corridor, the many torches along the walls lighting the familiar murals and making them glow. 

 

The air smelled like jasmine, almost too sweet of a scent, and she was so focused on trying to remember where she had last smelled the little white flowers that she ran straight into a solid chest, a pained sound leaving Nat's mouth as her shoulder jostled in Wanda's arms.

 

"Strange?" Wanda gaped at the witch, his scarlet cape and impeccable goatee seeming too normal for the situation she'd just scrambled out of. 

 

"What happened," he demanded, dark brows furrowed over impossibly blue eyes. 

 

Wanda explained quickly, tightening her grip on her champion as the woman let out another groan. 

 

"Do you know somewhere I can set her down? She's kind of heavy," she said, glancing down at Nat. Her champion was muttering nonsense, and Wanda looked back up to Strange.

 

Her panic level was rising from ready to kill a man to ready to tear down a government system with her bare hands. 

 

She joked, but her heart was frantic against her ribs.  _ Beokaybeokaybeokay _ was a constant mantra in her mind, and she begged Tiamat for healing. Could the ocean hear from where they were, two levels below ground and hundreds of yards from the shore? She could only hope.

 

"I can take her," the witch says, holding out his large, scarred hands, several jeweled rings adorning narrow fingers. 

 

Despite Wanda's earlier complaint, she clutches Nat tighter to her chest, shifting her weight to accommodate. "I'm fine," she insisted. There's no way she's letting go of Natasha now. 

 

"Okay," he said, looking past her to Clint, still floating eerily. "I've got a place we can take them." 

 

Wanda nodded, relief like a spring bloom in her chest. 

 

He started walking. Wanda followed, champion in her arms and friend at her back.

 

Gods, let them be okay. They  _ have  _ to be okay. 


	8. i'll give you the stars in my teeth

 

 

Wanda followed the witch up several flights of stairs, arms straining with Nat's weight. (Not that the assassin was particularly heavy, but still, Wanda was  _ tired _ .) Finally, they stopped in the middle of a hallway, mosaic-covered walls depicting some sort of epic sea battle. 

 

Strange strode up to a section of the mosaic where a horse-fish hybrid was lashing at a woman with four arms and snakes for hair. He studied the scene for a moment, then pressed his wrists together and splayed his fingers in a way not unlike how Wanda had learned to summon her magic. 

 

No sparks or crack of thunder, but where a wall had been there now stood a narrow door. 

 

Wanda gaped at him, eyes darting from the door that had appeared out of nowhere to the witch smirking at her. "This way, Majesty." 

 

He led her down a narrow path behind the garden, and soon they were walking down the beach on a shelled path Wanda had never noticed before. 

 

Was it glamoured too? She couldn't tell—magic was so much more subtle and intricate than she'd ever imagined. Sure, she could make things fly and explode, but to hide things from sight? That was a whole separate realm of possibilities. 

 

"How did you do that?" she asked as they near a little hut on the beach she hadn't seen before.

 

"A fairly simple misdirection spell. I can show you, sometime." 

 

Wanda nodded eagerly, despite her tiredness. 

 

She'd become the best witch this world had ever seen, and she wouldn't do it for pride or glory, but to protect her people. 

 

To make up for all the horrors her magic had caused. 

 

Strange led her inside, shutting the wooden door behind her. She stared at what she guessed was his home, fascinated. 

 

No gold and jewels scattered about, no trunks overflowing with ancient tomes. No scent of magic in the air. 

 

Just a small hut on the beach, dimly lit by a few white candles. In the room opening to the beach there was a wooden work table, covered with rough sketches. Beside it was a low bed, just wide enough for two reasonably sized humans—if they squished together. 

 

Strange gestured to the bed, and Wanda laid Nat down, arms groaning in relief. (So maybe she carried her champion out of spite—because she didn't actually  _ have  _ to. But even though her arms ached and she knew she'd be sore tomorrow, she'd do it again. And again.) 

 

Strange immediately put his hands to her wound, expression unreadable. 

 

"Did you do this?" he asked after a moment, running a finger along the sparkling shield Wanda had hastily created, wrapped across Nat's shoulder and up her neck. Blood pooled beneath it. 

 

Wanda nodded. "I can't heal," she admitted, lips twisting into a frown.  _ Useless.  _

 

But Strange turned to her, something almost like wonder in his eyes. "This is remarkable, Wanda. You've saved her life." 

 

She stared at him. "I--I don't want her to die," she said, voice sounding small and scared. 

 

He nodded. "I won't let her. Have a seat, this may take a while." 

 

She sat on a little stool beside the work table, watching as Strange brought Clint into a different room behind a sky-blue curtain. "He just needs rest, for now," he said, after resting a hand on his neck for a moment. 

 

Wanda released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Clint was going to be okay. 

 

Without her realizing, the bastard had stolen a piece of her heart. Not that she wanted it back. 

 

Now she watched as Strange carefully peeled back the layer of protective magic, pressing clean linens to the wound. 

 

There was so much blood. 

 

Wanda took a deep breath, looking away for a moment. She wasn't afraid of blood—had injured herself enough as a child, watched her mother stitch up her children too many times to count. 

 

But sitting anxiously as her champion bled to death on a cot in a hut was not an experience she wanted to repeat. 

 

She made herself focus on her surroundings to calm the rising panic. It did intrigue her that the eccentric witch lived in a quaint, practical hut and not the palace yards away. He could have the grandest chambers—a whole floor to himself if he asked. She knew the Vongasta held him in high esteem—after all, he was the one who'd created their first line of defense with those wards Wanda had unwittingly thrown herself against.

 

"Do you want to help?" he asked after a while, and Wanda jumped to her feet, every bone in her body protesting at the sudden movement. 

 

She felt like her bones had bruises, and by the gods it was not a pleasant feeling. 

 

"What can I do?"

 

Strange smiled at her enthusiasm, lifting his bloody hands from Nat's wound to point at a cabinet across the room. "Grab the vial with the dark blue liquid in it and a clay bowl." 

 

She did, not stopping to take in the numerous vials with a rainbow of colored ingredients, the yellowed bones and pouches of herbs, all neatly labeled and organized in a way she didn't understand. But she'd like to, another day. 

 

"Good," he said when she held both objects, and her heart warmed at the praise. 

 

"Set the vial down and fill the bowl with water. I need to clean the wound before I can see what I have to do to fix it." 

 

She nodded, grateful for his calm but focused tone. It helped her to just think about grabbing the glass pitcher off of the worktable and filling the bowl halfway with water, handing it to him and setting the vial on the table. 

 

He then had her lay out clean bandages and gauze, and wash some linens with a foul-scented mix that made her gag. "What is this?" she demanded, wrinkling her nose. 

Strange looked up, lips quirking. "Essence of Linoa. It has strong healing properties." 

 

"Does it have to smell so disgusting?" 

 

He laughed.

Hours later—or it may have been minutes, Wanda was too tired to tell anymore—Strange leaned back in his chair, stretching. "Okay, that's all I can do for now. Thank you for your help, Majesty. Now get some rest." 

 

Wanda leaned forward, elbows on her knees to get a better look at her champion. 

Strange had stitched up the deep slash after cleansing the wound with water and the Linoa essence, then applied several layers of linens and clean bandages over that. 

 

"I don't know how to thank you," she said quietly, gaze sliding to Strange's face. 

 

He stood, unclasping his cloak and draping it over an arm. "You can start by going to bed. The Vongasta will be here in the morning—which is now a few hours away," he added with a sigh, glancing to the darkness past the oval window above his desk. 

 

"There's a spare cot in the guest room where Clint is—" 

 

"I'm okay," Wanda says, smiling bracingly. "I can't sleep, after... everything." 

 

He studied her for a moment, blue-gray eyes as unreadable as the ocean before a storm. "Alight," he said at last, tucking his stool underneath the bed. "Call if you need anything, I'll be in the bedroom." 

 

"Thank you," she murmured. He'd already walked away, shutting the door softly behind him. 

 

Wanda sighed, rubbing her eyes. The truth? She was exhausted—she felt like she could sleep for years. 

 

She felt mentally drained, bone-tired from days of pushing herself and shoving away her grief and now being physically battered. 

 

But every time she closed her eyes, soulless yellow eyes stared back at her, and she heard Nat's broken scream, saw dark smoke curling around Clint's throat. 

 

She stared into the flame of the candle on the desk, barely an inch high. 

She'd sleep later. 

 

It really wasn't healthy, but she had no other option. She wasn't ready to face darkness again, even in her dreams. 

 

✶      ✶      ✶

 

"Wanda?" 

 

The young queen bolted upright, eyes wide open. She'd nearly drifted off  _ again _ , and now she was hearing things—great. 

 

But she looked to Nat (everything always came back to her champion) and the woman's eyes were open, narrowed at her. 

 

"Are you alright? How are you feeling?" Wanda demanded, stumbling from her chair to rush to Nat's side, kneeling beside the bed. 

 

Nat's lips quirked up, just slightly. 

 

The hint of a smile healed things in Wanda's heart that she hadn't realized were hurt. 

 

"I've been worse," she said, voice rough. But her smile persisted, and Wanda smiled back, rubbing her eyes. "Gods, Nat, please don't ever do that again," she said, eyes pleading. 

 

Nat took her hand, thumb rubbing over the dark rune emblazoned on her wrist. Wanda shivered, despite the warmth of the hut.

 

"I'd do anything to keep you safe," she said softly, ocean eyes boring into her queen's. 

 

Wanda swallowed, perfectly still as Nat's fingertips trailed down her palm, across her knuckles. 

 

They sat like that for an infinite heartbeat, Wanda staring at Nat, the champion studying Wanda's hands like they were a wonderful mystery, an extraordinary secret. 

 

Then Natasha set Wanda's hand down, and the moment shattered and was lost. 

 

Wanda didn't expect anything like it to happen again, but then the scarlet-haired woman before her was sliding over to the other side of the cot, patting the mattress. 

 

"Come on. You should sleep," she said, wincing as she grabbed the quilt across her lap and spread it across the bed. 

 

Wanda stared at her. "I—" she started, but didn't know how to finish. How could she tell this ridiculously brave woman that she was afraid of some stupid nightmares? 

 

Although the prospect of sleeping beside Nat was perhaps more terrifying than facing another demon—not because of what Nat would do to her, but what Wanda could accidentally reveal as she slept. 

Pietro had teased her when she was little for talking in her sleep, and he'd discovered secrets that way. 

 

"Come on, Majesty," Nat said, settling down against the pillows propping her up. "You deserve to rest." 

 

Wanda bit her lip. She couldn't say no to that, so after a long moment she sighed and gingerly sat beside Nat, sitting as close to the cot's edge as possible. 

 

"I'm not going to bite you," Nat said, and though the hut was dark (most of the candles had gone out spare the one on the desk, which somehow managed to last much longer than candles really should) Wanda could see the white flash of Nat's teeth as she grinned, hear the smirk in her voice. 

 

"You can if you want," Wanda said, and immediately regretted it.

 

Nat, thankfully, just laughed, pulling the quilt up to her shoulders. 

 

Wanda slid underneath it, and she knew there was no way she'd be able to sleep with the heat of her champion's body inches away from hers. 

 

She lay down on her back, staring at the ceiling and not moving a muscle. 

 

"You were so strong tonight," Natasha murmured after a few moments of peaceful silence, the distant roar of the waves the only sound—along with Wanda's thunderous heartbeat, which she was sure could be heard from the palace.

 

She turned to face Nat, eyes disbelieving as she laid her head on her arm. 

 

Nat looked down at her, lips curled up. "I'm proud of you." 

 

Wanda blinked. "Really?" she blurted out, and immediately snapped her mouth shut. Stupid—she should be saying "thank you" or "you were strong too, my champion whom I absolutely am not in love with." 

 

Heat rose to Wanda' cheeks, and she couldn't be more grateful for the darkness that enveloped the little hut. 

 

"Of course," Nat said, and Wanda could hear the wry smile in her voice. "I don't like lying." 

 

Wanda nodded hastily. "I didn't mean—" 

Nat laughed, the sound more melodic than anything Wanda had ever heard--angels and goddesses be damned, if Wanda only heard one voice for the rest of her life she wanted it to be Natasha's. 

 

"I know. Go to bed, little one." 

 

And somehow Tiamat must have been looking out for Wanda tonight, because as soon as Nat murmured those soft words Wanda was captured in Morpheus’ embrace, heart held in his warm, peaceful darkness. 

 

✶      ✶      ✶

 

 

Wanda woke up strangely warm—but not uncomfortably so. She yawned, pressing her cheek into the firm pillow beneath her. 

 

Her mind registered voices nearby, but they were soft and distant, so she ignored them. 

 

"Wanda," a different voice said, much closer. 

 

Her pillow rumbled with the word, and Wanda squeezed her eyes shut tight. "No," she said, pulling her blanket up to her chin. 

 

Her pillow moved again, and she huffed, tightening her grip on something that was definitely not a pillow. 

 

"Wanda," Nat said again, and the queen's eyes flew open. 

 

She sat up, face turning scarlet as she realized that she'd been using her champion's chest as a pillow. 

 

They were still very close, legs brushing beneath Strange's quilt, and Wanda mentally kicked herself for being so stupid. 

 

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—" 

 

"Hey, it's okay," Nat said, touching Wanda's hand gently. "You needed the rest." 

 

"Look at that, their royal majesties decided to grace us with their presence!" 

 

Wanda turned to see Clint push past the curtain separating the two rooms, beaming. 

 

Wanda slid off the bed, rushing into his arms. 

 

He made a surprised noise as Wanda wrapped her arms around him, face pressed to his shoulder. 

 

After a heartbeat, he returned the embrace, and she smiled, eyes suddenly silver-lined. "You almost died, you bastard!" she cried, pulling away slightly to glare at him. 

 

He looked offended. "Nat's the one on bed-rest until the doctor says," he said imperiously. 

 

"You want to be on bed-rest too?" Nat asked from behind her, and Wanda grinned. 

 

"So you're okay?" she asked, studying his face, his neck. The bruises were still there, and worry creased her brow.

 

He nodded, hand going to his throat. "Yeah, Strange gave me a salve for the bruises. I just wish I could have gotten a badass scar like Nat. Attract all the ladies," he said with a wink. 

 

Wanda laughed. Gods, she was glad he'd survived. 

 

Somehow, they all had. She didn't know who to thank—the gods, her mother, dumb luck—but she'd certainly be making Tiamat another sacrifice. 

 

"Okay, I'm hungry," he said, and Nat snorted. Wanda sat on the edge of their bed, mindful not to sit on Nat. They'd been close enough the night before—not that Wanda had minded. But she wasn't going to take advantage of her champion. 

 

“It’s nice to know that nearly dying hasn’t stopped your appetite,” Wanda smiled. 

 

"Thor said he's bringing breakfast," Strange said, emerging from the sigil-carved door. 

 

A man Wanda hadn't seen before was at his side, running a hand through his dark hair. He looked at Wanda's champion and smirked.  "What did you do this time, Romanoff?" 

 

"Saved my ass," Natasha said, trying not to smile as she studied the stranger. 

 

Romanoff. She savored the name, knew it would roll off her tongue like a blessing. 

 

Wanda scoffed beside her. "That was all you, Wanda." 

 

The queen ducked her head. 

 

Strange cleared his throat. "This is my husband, Tony." 

 

Wanda looked up, eyes widening. "Pleasure to meet you," she said, standing. 

 

He smiled at her, white teeth flashing. "Please, sit. I've heard a lot about you, queen of Sokovia."

 

She glanced to Nat. "All bad, I hope," she said. 

 

Tony chuckled. "Absolutely. But really, Strange told me what you did last night. Fighting off a demon by yourself, after years without using your magic? Very impressive." 

 

He studied her, but it wasn't the gaze of a hungry man, hunting for his next prey. It was a curious, respectful gaze, and she stared back at him, just as curious. 

 

He wasn't what she'd expected, when Strange had told her he had a husband, that night that felt like years ago. (Although she wasn't sure what she did expect—just not someone so normal. And attractive, she thought. The sun-kissed skin and dark, expressive eyes, those big hands and broad shoulders—Wanda shook herself. She had enough trouble with women without fantasizing about men, too. Not that she  _ was  _ fantasizing. Just admiring.)

 

There was a hard knock at the hut's entrance, and Tony opened the door, grinning at Nicholas and the two Vongastan royals. "Good morning," he said cheerfully, and Wanda wished she could act so happy this early in the day. 

 

Clint came to sit beside her, and Nat draped the quilt over his head, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. 

 

He wrapped the blanket around himself like a cape, making Wanda snort. 

 

Nat nudged Clint, who elbowed Wanda, who smacked his shoulder. 

 

"—brought breakfast," Jane was saying, smiling at the group assembled. 

 

"You are a goddess," Clint sighed, flopping back onto the bed. 

 

Wanda smacked his stomach. "Don't say that here," she said, just a little worried that Tiamat would take offense and raise a tsunami against the little hut. 

 

Strange smiled, just a little smug. "Not even goddesses can get past my wards," he said.  "We're safe here. Even if you had your face pressed against the door outside, you wouldn't hear a thing."

 

"Which is why we're hosting our top-secret meeting in a hut," Clint said lowly to Wanda. 

 

She snorted. 

 

"So," Tony said, clapping his hands together, and Wanda watched as Nicholas entered the hut last, softly shutting the door behind him. "I heard there's some kind of awesome plan no one's informed me of?" 

 

The small hut became a little crowded, as a living room comfortable for three people now held eight. 

 

"Woah," Clint said, holding up his hands, "Can we at least eat first?" 

 

Any snide remark from Tony was interrupted by Strange snapping his fingers. 

Every available surface was covered in Vongastan delicacies, from spicy fried rice to the infamous bread Wanda and Clint had fought over that second day at the Blue Palace. 

 

Clint dove for a bread basket, and everyone slowly followed, the tension in the room easing as royals, warriors, and witches alike made themselves comfortable—on the floor, on stools, or on the windowsill, if you were Clint—and started eating. 

 

"So, I was thinking," Thor started after a while. Wanda had stolen the last piece of bread and had nearly jumped into Nat's lap to keep it away from Clint's hands. 

 

They looked up to the monarch leaning against Strange's cabinet, just as Jane stole a cookie from his plate. He scowled at her, then continued. "Well, we were thinking," he amended gesturing to his wife. 

 

"Oh yes, blame the horrible plan on me," she said dryly. 

 

"It's not horrible," he protested, looking wounded. 

 

Wanda gazed upon the picture of domestic bliss she knew she'd never have. 

 

Most days, she was fine with it. 

 

But sometimes, the ache of loneliness constricted her chest until she felt like she could barely breathe. 

 

"What is it?" Strange asked, interrupting the royals' squabbling.

 

Thor looked up, looking like he’d been caught stealing from the kitchen. 

 

"Um. Yes. So a  _ possible  _ plan," he said, stressing the "possible," and making Wanda wonder how terrible this plan truly was. "We host a celebration in honor of Wanda's recent birthday. Hold it in a few days, so Declan doesn't have much time to prepare. We tell everyone that it's their chance to meet the queen of Sokovia, to see her perform unprecedented acts of magic. Our warlock friend will show—or at least send his assassins. And we'll be ready." 

 

"No," Nat protested, sitting up on her hands and wincing as her stitches pulled at her skin. "You can't ask her to do that."

 

"I'll do it," Wanda said quickly, shooting Nat a look. "We don't have a choice."

 

Nat furrowed her brow. "There's always a choice."

 

"Let me get this straight," Clint interjected, leveling a terrifyingly serious gaze on Thor. "You want to use Wanda as bait? What happens if Declan shows up? Nat said he's unbeatable." 

 

"No one is truly unbeatable," Tony said from his seat on the floor, leaning against his husband. "Trust me, I'd know." 

 

Thor, for his credit, stared back at Clint, expression open. "We didn't get that far. But I will only go through with this plan with Wanda's consent."

 

"Declan can be held with magic," Nat spoke up, and Wanda turned to see her champion's face pained, like she'd rather not share her information. 

 

"Like a cage?" Nicholas asked from beside the door, arms crossed. 

 

Wanda had noticed that he hadn't eaten any of the food Strange had provided, only drank from a flask at his hip. 

 

"With Wanda's help, I can create a magical constraint. We can lure him away from the party, then get him into the cage. If we can't kill him, at least he can't do any more damage." 

 

A coldness sank through Wanda at the thought of killing the warlock. 

 

This was the man who'd murdered her parents, who'd tried to kill her and Pietro on more than one occasion. 

 

She should be raging for vengeance, for his blood on her lips. 

 

But all she wanted was peace. To be fucking left alone. 

 

She'd kill him if that's what it took. But she would not enjoy it.   

 

She clasped her hands together and rested her chin on them, staring at the plush, colorful rug on the floor. She listened as her comrades went back and forth about logistics, discussed the potential party and outcomes of killing the powerful warlock. 

 

"Wanda," Nat said softly, touching Wanda's shoulder. 

 

Wanda jumped, blinking at her champion. "Sorry, what?" 

 

Nat's lips curled slightly. "I asked if you wanted to talk to Pietro, Stephen has a scrying mirror."

 

Wanda straightened, exhaustion (of course she had fallen asleep again, damn it) vanishing at the thought of seeing her twin. "Yes, of course." 

 

"Alright, follow me," Strange said, beckoning her to the curtain separating this room from the one Clint had slept in. He showed her to a large mirror hanging on the wall above a wooden dresser. 

 

He waved a hand over the clear surface, muttering something, and the glass seemed to ripple in a way it shouldn't. 

 

A moment later, her brother's face appeared in the mirror, and Wanda stumbled as close as she could get to the mirror, tears springing to her eyes. 

 

His hair was a silver mess, most of it held back in a loose bun at the nape of his neck. Strands fell out of the tie, framing his dirt-smudged face, and Wanda let out a happy sob, pressing her hand to the mirror. 

 

She heard Strange slink out, but paid him no mind—she'd thank him later.

 

Now she just stared at Pietro, heart in her throat. 

 

He grinned at her, and she knew without words that they were going to be okay. "I thought we were going to get our first tattoos together," he scowled, gazed focused on the wrist pressed against the mirror. 

 

She laughed, wiping her eyes with her other hand. Gods, she wished she could hug him. But for now, just seeing her twin was enough. 

 

"I'm so sorry for everything," she said, eyes burning. "I remember now. Gods, so much has happened, Pietro." 

 

He smiled at her, pressing his hand against the mirror, miles and miles and a thin layer of glass separating them. His reflection rippled, and Wanda guessed he was scrying through water.

 

 "You don't have to apologize," he said, his clear eyes catching everything Wanda didn't say. "But still, I forgive you. You'll always be my sister." 

 

She smiled weakly at him, pinching herself to keep from crying. Being less emotional would be nice. She could donate her extra feelings to someone who needed them. Like Nat.

 

They talked of everything that had occurred since the attack on the palace. Pietro was getting tired of the isolation of Angloterra’s northern castle, but at least he had Vision—and some strange assassin husbands who'd been tasked to protect them while they traveled. 

 

He was itching to go home, and Wanda felt the same—mostly. She'd come to love the Blue Palace, its eccentric dwellers and incredible cuisine. 

 

Tiamat, of course, she'd never forget. 

 

She updated Pietro on everything that had happened and told him of their enemy, now that they knew his name. 

 

His lips curled as Wanda explains who the warlock is and his lust for power. "We had an assassin sneak into the castle yesterday. Bucky killed him—saved Vision's life." 

 

She grinned at the mention of her blonde, prophetic friend. 

 

He rolls his eyes. "You're the one who's been pining after that knight for five fucking years, sister."

 

"Not true!” she protested, scowling at him. But it was—at least a little. 

 

"Anyways," Wanda said, changing the subject to something that didn't make her heart want to fall out of her chest and into Nat's arms. 

 

"We've come up with a plan to deal with the warlock." 

 

Pietro didn’t like it. To be honest, Wanda didn’t either. 

 

There were too many ways it could go wrong, too many ways for innocent people to get hurt. 

 

Wanda wasn’t going to let the villainous warlock take one more life. 

 

She says goodbye to Pietro soon after that, promising that she’d keep in contact. 

 

"And don't let that knight break your heart," he said, sparkling eyes becoming serious. 

 

She laughed, and the mirror went dark. 

 

_ Too late for that, dear brother. She already has my heart in her hands.  _

 

✶      ✶      ✶

 

"I'd like Strange to teach me magic," Wanda said abruptly, sitting up on the edge of Nat's bed. 

 

Her champion turned from where she stood in front of her wardrobe, holding a midnight blue dress before her. Strange had put her arm in a sling to keep her from using it while her muscles healed, but that didn't keep her from moving as much as she could.

 

"He's offered already," Wanda said, mouth going dry at the thought of Nat in that brilliant dress. 

 

Nat looked down at the garment, frowning. "I'd rather wear armor."

 

"To a party?" Wanda laughed. 

 

The red-headed woman sighed and hung the dress back up, moving to sit beside Wanda. "That would be good for you," she said, and it took Wanda a moment to realize she was talking about studying magic and not seeing her champion in a beautiful gown. 

 

Wanda yawned. "I'd like to meet his son, sometime. Tony told me about him earlier." 

 

She looked down at her hands. It always startled her, to see the dark red runes on her wrists. She supposed she'd get used to them eventually. 

 

After she'd spoken to Pietro, she'd come back to a practically empty room, Tony sitting on the bed she and Nat had slept in. "Stephen went to pick up Peter—our son," he explained, and the joy in Tony's eyes made Wanda happy, too. "You should be able to meet him sometime. He's a big fan of yours." 

 

Wanda hadn't known what to say to that. And then Nat had come in through the front door, exchanging a look with Tony that Wanda couldn't decipher. They'd walked back to the palace in silence. 

 

"Clint, for once in his life, had a good idea," Nat said, full lips pulled into a smile. "You should take a nap too." 

 

"Don't tell me what to do," Wanda scowled, but her eyes were happy. Another yawn rose in her throat and she scrunched her nose to suppress it. 

 

"If I have to carry you to your bed I will," Nat said sternly.

 

"Oh, like I carried you all the way to Strange's hut?" 

 

"Are you implying that I'm heavy?" 

 

Wanda stood, rolling her eyes. "Anyone is heavy after four flights, Nat." 

 

"Keep telling yourself that," her champion replied with a smirk, stretching out on her bed. Wanda tried not to stare at the exposed strip of skin where her shirt had ridden up over her stomach. 

 

"I'll see you at dinner?" Wanda asked, hoping her voice didn't sound too hopeful.

 

Nat nodded, pulling her blankets over her lap. "Wake me up in an hour, we're going to spar."

 

Wanda stopped before the door, narrowing her eyes. "Your arm is in a sling." 

 

"So don't hit it. You need to be as ready as possible for the party, and we only have two days to prepare." 

 

"I'll be fine," Wanda said, lifting her chin. If she said something enough times, it had to be true. 

 

✶      ✶      ✶

 

Wanda was back in the foul-smelling dungeon, Nat panting on the floor beside her. 

 

The demon clacked its beak, advancing on the young queen. "You are surrounded by lies, girl," it said in its hideous voice. "Give up now, and I'll spare your friends." 

 

She clapped her hands together, pulling her hands into fists and shoving them through the air. 

 

The magic that should have coursed through her fingertips was not there. 

 

The demon laughed gutturally, pulling a long, bone-white knife from a sheath at its waist. "You are no match for Declan. No match for me." 

 

He stabbed Natasha in the chest, her scream rattling the palace walls. 

 

Wanda charged the creature, but it threw her aside and moved on to Clint. 

 

Then her mother, her father, Agatha. Pietro and Vision. 

 

An endless line of her friends, her family, people she'd never met before. 

 

All dead. 

 

And still, her magic would not come. 

 

"I pity you," the demon said, raising his knife, and the world went black. 

 

Someone was saying her name. Someone familiar, someone who made her feel things she'd never felt before. 

 

"Hey, you were dreaming," Natasha said, hand going to Wanda's forehead, gently brushing away the hair that had fallen into her eyes. 

 

"I saw you die," Wanda croaked. 

 

"It was a dream," Nat said firmly. "Come on, I'll make you some tea." 

 

She helped Wanda out of bed—though she shouldn't be using her arm at all, in a fucking sling—and led her back into Nat's room. 

 

Wanda sat on Nat's bed again, watching as her champion bustled around her chambers like everything was normal. 

 

Like Wanda hadn't just watched her parents die before her eyes,  _ again _ . 

 

"Tea is not—"

 

"Did you know that one of my earliest memories is the smell of blood?" Nat asked, cutting off Wanda's outburst. 

 

Wanda snapped her mouth shut, staring at her champion as she handed her a mug, steam rising into the air. 

 

"I was raised to be a weapon," Nat went on, tossing a log into the fireplace. She stared at it for a moment, watching as the flames licked at the fresh wood, then walked back to Wanda, sitting beside her. 

 

Wanda was keenly aware of the half-inch of space between Nat's thigh and her own, but she made herself focus on her champion's words. 

 

"They took me at—I don't know, five? I didn't have friends. I lost everything I had." 

 

She turned her eyes to Wanda, a heaviness in them. "They took my magic, too. I had nothing, and they gave me even less." 

 

"You had magic?" Wanda's eyes were wide. 

 

Nat looked down at her hands. "Not much. My mother had been blessed by a forest goddess, and she had fire-song in her blood. She passed some of it down to me, but I never knew how much I actually had. My captors took it away." 

 

Wanda sat frozen. She didn't know what to say--what  _ did  _ you say, in a situation like this? "Sorry" really didn’t cut it. 

 

 

"They stripped me of everything that made me human. Spelled me so I'd heal faster, age slower. And I can't bear children. They wanted warriors, not mothers." 

 

The bitterness in her tone made Wanda feel sick. Her words made her want to murder whoever had done this to her champion. 

 

"I was their secret weapon for years. All I knew was death." Nat stopped, looking at the fire. Her free hand rubbed her shoulder. 

 

"What happened?" 

 

"I killed them all—everyone I could find. I made them pay." she took a deep breath, looked back to Wanda. 

 

"And I tried to do good with my life instead. For some reason, I've survived this long. And while I'm still breathing, I've got red in my ledger that I have to wipe clean." 

 

Wanda was silent for a moment, studying her champion. "I will do anything I can to help you. I promise." 

 

Nat's lips lifted slightly, and she walked to the firepit, searching the flames. Wanda wondered what she was looking for. 

 

"I'm scared," she admitted after a long moment. Wanda's heart constricted at the raw truth in Nat's voice. Her champion sat in the chair in front of the fire, finger idly tracing her lower lip.

 

"We're going to survive this," Wanda said, softly but not weakly. She stood, setting her mug on Nat's bedside table and kneeling before Nat. She stared up at her champion, flames turning her ocean eyes gold.

 

Nat's lips twisted. "We're playing into his hand. Dane wants you to use your magic. it's what brought the ship in the first place. He hadn't known we— _ you _ —were here until a few days ago." The explosion. Wanda sets her jaw, rising and placing her hands on the chair's arm rests on either side of Natasha. 

 

"And when he comes, we're going to defeat him. Then go home. I promise." 

 

Nat sighed, rubbing her jaw, and Wanda grabbed her wrist. They stared at each other for a moment, definitely too close for a queen and her champion to be alone. 

 

There was a huge bed right behind them, and the firelight made Wanda feel too warm, heat in places there shouldn't be. 

 

She should go, bid her champion goodnight and go to bed, or walk down to the beach, or practice her hexes—anything but stare at her champion's lips. 

 

"You wanna know how a queen makes promises?" Wanda asked, voice barely audible over the crackling of the fire. She's pressed into the front of Nat's chair, her champion's knees locking her in place.

 

Not that there's anywhere in the world she'd rather be.

 

"How," Natasha asks, wry smile curving her perfect lips, and Wanda's confidence so kindly vanishes.

 

"I—um," she stutters, cheeks blushing scarlet. She ducked her head, tried to stand and flee Nat's all-knowing gaze, her kind smile, but she can't free herself from Nat's grip. Usually, this would scare her, but she's never afraid with Nat. Something about her champion makes her feel strong, like she can take on the world and all the demons in it and laugh.

 

"Show me," Nat murmured, leaning forward and taking Wanda's hands in hers.

 

The pain that had become constant was irrelevant as Nat's fingertips slid across the bumps of Wanda's knuckles.

 

There were a million reasons not to kiss her champion.

 

She could list them all, and her mind did, a voice that sounded like Pietro warning her against getting attached.

 

Wanda had stopped caring what other people thought a queen should do. (Especially in her own bedroom.)

 

So she tilted her chin up and pressed her lips ever-so-softly to nat's, eyes fluttering shut at the blissful sensation.

 

Nat placed Wanda's hands on her shoulders and pulled the queen into her lap so wanda was straddling her, deepening the kiss as she did.

 

Wanda moaned as Nat's hands roamed across her back through the thin silk of her dress, send red sparks of pleasure along her skin.

 

The queen wrapped her arms around Natasha's neck, settling into her lap and whimpering as Nat tugged on her hair.

 

"I've wanted to do this for so long," Wanda breathed, their foreheads touching. 

 

She lifted her gaze to Nat's kyonite eyes, which were suddenly very far away. "Nat?" 

 

"I—we can't do this, majesty," Natasha said, eyes widening as if she saw Wanda for the first time. "I'm so much older than you, and you have a kingdom to worry about—"

 

"I don't care about any of that," Wanda said, heart cracking in her chest. This wasn't how she'd imagined their kiss progressing at all.

 

Nat pursed her lips, mind apparently set. She gently eased Wanda off of her lap, and Wanda stood shakily, staring at her champion. 

 

For the first time, Nat couldn't meet her eyes. "You should go," she said softly, turning back to the fire. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have taken advantage of you like that."

 

"What? You did no such thing!" Wanda crossed her arms, standing between her champion and the firepit so she was forced to look up at Wanda and meet her wounded eyes.

 

Nat just nodded, as if to herself, eyes as sorrowful as Wanda's. "This should never have happened, Wanda. Please—"

 

But Wanda was already stalking out, fists clenched.

 

She shoved the door open and Nat could hear her queen's chamber door being yanked open.

 

Nat stared at the still-open door, a tangle of emotions in her heart that she wished she could kill.

 

"Life would be so much easier without feelings," she told the smoldering logs.

 

They only crackled in response, an echo of her already shattered heart.

 

She heard footsteps down the hall, and a flash of fiery hair blaze past her door. 

 

Gods. She truly was the dumbest assassin in the world. She'd have to steal that award from Clint. 

 

Nat groaned, rubbing her forehead. 

 

One day she'd be able to protect her queen's life  _ and  _ her feelings. 

 

Today was not that day. 


	9. the prodigal queen

 

 

Wanda shouldn't have been surprised she ended up on the beach.

  
  
The water had become her sanctuary, Tiamat a friend. (It probably wasn't wise to think of the omnipotent, temperamental goddess as anything other than a deity that could destroy Wanda and her world with a thought, but she couldn't help it. Tiamat was kinder than most humans.)

  
  
She walked until the water lapped at her ankles, the cold no longer shocking her.

  
  
She was a fool to kiss Natasha, to hope her champion felt the same way.

  
  
All she had wanted was a friend. And she'd fucked it up by falling in love.

  
  
"Wanda," her favorite sorcerer called, and Wanda blew out a breath and turned, trying to smile. It probably looked like a grimace, but she didn't care.   


Strange could probably read her mind anyway.

  
  
"Here for your lesson?" he asked, walking up to her. His dark hair was tousled by the wind, and he was dressed in a simple dark tunic and breeches, no blood-red cape or soldier's boots. No fancy jewelry either, Wanda noted. She supposed this is what witches looked like on their off days.   


She dug her toes into the sand, relaxing her fists. "Is marriage difficult?" she asked, turning from the ocean to study his brilliant blue eyes.   


He huffed out a laugh, seeming surprised at the question. "Sometimes. Sometimes I really, really want to throw Tony into the ocean and move to the desert. But I don't."   


"Why not?"   


He smiled at her, sensing her sadness. "Because it's not about me. If I wanted easy, I absolutely wouldn't have chosen Tony." He chuckled, and turned from the water. "What I wanted was a love that would last throughout strife and despair. And every day, we each choose that. I just love the bastard."   


He started walking across the sand, and Wanda fell into step beside him, focusing on the sand beneath her feet, Strange's beautiful words. Anything but the ache in her heart.   


"You planning on marriage?"   


Wanda barked out a laugh, pulling her hair back into a knot at the nape of her neck. "If you asked me that question a year ago, I would have told you marriage is a curse. I don't believe that anymore." (She wasn't sure what she believed, honestly. But she was tired of wondering about love.)

 

Strange snapped his fingers, and his hut appeared, twenty feet away. "Can you teach me how to do that?" she demanded.

 

They stopped at the front door and he smiled. "We'll see how you do tonight." 

 

Wanda had expected to jump right into hexes and spells, protection shields and fighting magic. 

 

Instead, the witch had her sitting on the floor in his living room, hands on her knees and eyes closed. 

 

She was supposed to just sit and breathe and "relax," let her thoughts flow through her. (Whatever the hell that meant.) 

 

Wanda had sat there for all of fifteen minutes before her thoughts started to bubble in her head like death in a cauldron.

 

"How long am I supposed to sit here for?" she spoke up, opening her eyes.

 

Strange looked up from the potion he'd been mixing. "Until I say you're ready."

 

"For what?"

 

He sighed. "Before you learn control, you must learn patience."

 

Wanda shifted, scratching her arm. "I'm patient."  


 

He chuckled. "You must master the basics before I can teach you anything spectacular."

 

"I already know the basics," she muttered.

  
  
"Fine," he snapped, pushing back from his desk and striding in front of her.

  
  
"Turn this potion back into its natural substances," he said, setting a glass vial with a clear liquid before her.

  
  
She stared at him, pulse jumping. Well, shit. Now she'd pissed off the man who'd promised to help her with her powers and he'd given her an impossible task.

  
  
"I don't—"

  
  
"What, you can't do it?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "I thought you were the witch queen of Sokovia, empress of magic?"

  
  
She bit her lip, looking down at her hands.

  
  
"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I just have to be ready for tomorrow."

  
  
He nodded, plucking up the vial. "I know. And you will be."

  
  
He walked back to his desk and held up a long strip of carmine fabric. "These are from the same dwarf who made my cloak. I spelled them, and the fabric itself is dyed with the fruit of a tree known for balancing magic. You can use them to harness your power."

  
  
He handed them to Wanda, and she stared at the scarlet cloth. it shimmered golden in the sunlight coming from the window before her.

  
  
They were beautiful, but they didn't make her feel magical or powerful. "So I just use them as arm wraps?" she asked, the smooth fabric gliding beneath her fingertips.

  
  
He shrugged, gesturing to the door. "Let's see."

  
  
She eagerly followed him outside, gasping as the wind shoved at her chest, yanking at her hair.

  
  
Strange rolled up his sleeves, glancing at the sky. "Hopefully the rain will hold off until tonight."

  
  
Wanda looked up at the cloudless pink sky, using one of the fabric strips like a headband to keep her curls away from her face. She considered tying the other around her wrist and wrapping it up her arm, but she didn't want to cover her rune. She settled for tying it around her bicep, the extra fabric whipping in the wind.

  
"Now what?"

  
  
"Show me what you've got," he said, wicked smile curling his lips as he summoned a glittering green shield with a flick of his wrists.

  
  
A younger Wanda would have charged at him, throwing everything she had against his magic without thinking of her next move.

  
  
Wanda was a different woman now. She closed her eyes, steadying her breathing the way Strange had taught her. Slowly, she brought her wrists together. As magic hissed along her skin, her makeshift headband seemed to warm, and the fabric around her bicep tightened, the fabric tails looping around her arm. 

  
She spread her fingers, lifting her arms above her head. "Are you sure?" she asked, barely able to hear herself over the crackle of her magic and the roar of the waves at her back.

  
  
"Trust yourself," Strange replied, shifting his stance and bracing behind his shield. "This won't work if you don't."

  
  
Wanda exhaled and threw her hands down.

  
  
A stream of power flew from her fingertips to race across the sky, crashing against Strange's shield.

  
  
He grunted, shoving an open hand towards her, and Wanda clapped her hands together, grabbing at the power he'd reflected back like it was a ball. She held it between her hands, laughing.

  
  
She'd found control.

  
  
If only her mother could see her now.

  
  
They spent the afternoon darting across the sand, heedless of the wind whipping at their clothes as they shot beams and clouds of magic at each other.

  
  
Strange knocked Wanda onto her back multiple times, and every time he helped her up with a strong hand. Once, she knocked him down, and the delight in her eyes told him he'd never live it down.

  
  
He took his defeat gracefully, and the two witches battled until the sun had set, the pink sky turning violet as the moon searched for her lover.

  
  
"You hungry?" Strange asked as he flicked his fingers, his unbroken magical shield snapping out of existence. "Tony said he's cooking the fish Peter caught."

  
  
Wanda nodded, grinning up at Stephen from where she'd flopped onto the sand, rubbing her wrists. The sharp pain had faded, but she had a feeling her bones would always ache after she used her magic.

  
  
He held out a hand, and she took it, jumping to her feet with an energy she hadn't had only a week ago.

  
  
They walked past Strange's little hut, and Wanda looked at him curiously.

  
  
"We're meeting them down the beach," he explained. He snorted as Wanda stumbled down an unexpectedly sloped dune, shooting out her arms to keep from falling.

  
  
Red sparks glowed against the dark sand, and she huffed, hands going to her headband. "You didn't see anything," she told him, adjusting the scarlet fabric.

  
  
He laughed, but his eyes changed as he looked up, the gentlest smile lifting his lips.

  
Wanda followed his gaze, staring at the grinning boy about Wanda's age running across the sand. He jumped into Strange's arms, laughing and babbling about some magic fish.

  
  
Tony watched them, smiling with his hands on his hips, and Wanda walked to his side, not wanting to interrupt Strange's moment. "This is Peter?"

  
  
Tony nodded, gesturing behind them to a crackling bonfire, sparks bright against the darkening sky. "He just got back from a fishing trip. It's the first time he's been gone for more than a night, Stephen was fretting like a nursemaid." 

  
Wanda snorted.

  
  
"I think you're the nursemaid in this house, Tony," Strange said, walking up to them, Peter at his side.

  
  
The boy smiled at Wanda, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets. (A jacket that looked much too large for him, Wanda suspected it was one of his father's.)

  
  
"I'm Peter. It's nice to meet you."

  
  
Wanda gave him a small smile, holding out her hand. "Likewise."

  
  
"Oh." he laughed awkwardly, bending down to kiss her hand.

  
  
Tony barked out a laugh. "She's trying to shake your hand, Pete."

  
  
The boy straightened, cheeks reddening. "Oh, um—sorry," he said, grabbing her hand and shaking it a little too enthusiastically.

  
  
They sat together on thick blankets besides the fire, and the warmth reminded Wanda of a memory she'd wished had never happened.

  
  
She should have kept her gods-damned feelings to herself.

  
  
She stared into the fire, watching as Tony helped Peter cut up a massive slab of fish with strangely glittering scales, impaling pieces with sharpened sticks and holding them over the fire.

  
  
It was almost disgustingly domestic, but Wanda shoved away the jealous, lonely thoughts that had crept up in the past five years and let the little family's love wash over her.

  
They talked and laughed and ate together, and once Peter got over his embarrassment he spoke excitedly to Wanda, asking her all sorts of questions about Sokovia and her culture.

  
  
"I wanted to come to your birthday festival, but Tony wouldn't let me," he pouted, taking a bite of fish.

  
  
Wanda didn't miss the glance that passed between Peter's fathers at the words.

  
  
"Oh, you didn't miss much," she said, hand going to her throat to touch a pendant that was no longer there. "A few attempted murders, plenty of knights squabbling for attention—you can find that in any kingdom you visit."

  
  
So they spent half the night joking and enjoying each other's company.

  
  
Her lovely evening tonight, and the other wonderful moments at the blue palace had given Wanda the breath of an idea.

  
  
She wanted her court to look like this, when she came home.

  
  
Not a palace of fear and nightmares, but a home for those who could not find one.

  
She would be the queen they needed. She'd make up for every year she'd caused them pain a hundred times over.

  
  
The moon was descending to the horizon when they started packing up, light from the east turning the black sky a dusty gray.

  
  
"It's time for bed, kids," Tony said, clapping a hand on both Wanda and Peter's shoulders as they walked along the sand.

  
  
"I'm not a kid," they said in unison. Wanda cracked a wry smile, sharing a look with Peter.

  
  
She bid Peter and his parents goodnight, their smiles radiant on the dark beach.

  
  
Wanda walked to the palace alone, but she was not afraid.

  
  
She had a witch's blessing on her brow, chaos magic at her fingertips.

  
  
But what made her steps feel dance-like, her heart free and unburdened, was the gift of friendship and compassion Strange had given her tonight.

  
  
For all that he acted the pretentious sorcerer, he had an incredibly kind heart.

  
✶      ✶      ✶

  
The next morning, Wanda had started packing the clothes Nat had brought her for their stay. She'd been avoiding thinking about her champion all morning, tired of the shame that rose in her throat every time her stupid heart decided to remind her of the soft press of Natasha's lips against hers, her champion's strong hands running down her back.

  
  
She sighed heavily, tossing a tunic into her saddlebag and slumping onto her bed.

  
She couldn't believe they were going home tomorrow—if all went well tonight. _If_ Wanda could defeat Declan, _if_  he even showed up.

  
  
There were so many ways their plan could go wrong. She understood Nat's hesitation now, the doubt clear in everyone's eyes when they'd discussed the plan yesterday in Strange's hut. 

 

She pinched the bridge of her nose. They couldn't turn back now.

  
  
Thor had arranged for their motley group to meet for lunch at noon, in a few hours. They would feast and finalize tonight's plan.

  
  
Wanda tried not to think of it as her last meal.

  
  
It wouldn't be. She was going home tomorrow. With Nat.

  
  
The thought gave her a headache. She laid back on her bed, yawning. After all this was over, she was going to nap for a hundred years.

 

A soft knock sounded at her door, and she sat up, groaning. She really wasn't in the mood for visitors.

  
  
But she padded across her chamber, hesitating for a moment with her hand on the doorknob.

  
  
She knew it was ridiculous to fear a demon behind every door—those who did were too afraid of life to truly live it.

  
  
But she'd seen things no human could explain.

  
  
Wanda sighed and opened the door.

  
  
She immediately wished the person before her had been a demon instead. It was much easier to shoot someone with magic than confront her feelings.

  
  
Nat smiled awkwardly at her, shifting on her feet under Wanda's shocked gaze. The queen noted absently that her champion no longer had her arm in a sling. She wondered if fast healing was a bonus of being immortal.

  
  
"What are you doing here?" Wanda blurted, immediately regretting her words. She wasn't trying to sound like an asshole.

  
  
But Nat had been one last night, so maybe she could get away with it this time.

  
  
Nat swallowed, holding up a covered basket. "I brought bread."

  
  
Wanda stared at her champion. She tried not to look at Natasha's lips, because every time she did she vividly remembered how skilled of a kisser her champion was. (Not that Wanda was any kind of prestigious judge of kissing.)

  
  
"I wanted to apologize, for last night," Nat said, when Wanda hadn't said anything.

  
  
"I'm sorry. And I'm tired of making excuses. But as your champion, I think it's best if we keep our relationship as friends." She spoke cautiously, as if afraid Wanda would bolt the second Nat said something wrong. 

  
  
Well. Wanda didn't see a problem with kissing the woman who happened to be her champion, but Nat was offering her a second chance. (And the best bread she'd ever had.)

  
  
So Wanda nodded, stepping back and beckoning Nat inside. She took the basket from her champion, helping herself to a piece.

  
  
"Are you ready for tonight?" Nat asked, still hovering by the door, like she wasn't sure she was really welcome.

  
  
"Sit," Wanda ordered, and she herself sat on her bed, patting the mattress beside her.

  
  
Nat approached carefully, perching on the edge of the bed like she was attempting to befriend a frightened animal. 

 

Wanda wasn't frightened anymore.

  
  
"Yes," she said, voice sounding stronger than she felt.

  
  
"You know, I think we've got a shot here," Nat said, plucking a piece of bread from the basket between them. Wanda considered slapping her hand away but decided to act queenly.

  
  
"At beating Declan?"

  
  
"At killing him," Nat replied, something dark in her voice.

  
  
Wanda swallowed, looking down. "I don't know if I can."

  
  
Nat set down her hunk of bread, stare boring into Wanda's skin. "I'll be with you. We'll defeat him together. You know who showed me that?"

  
  
Wanda lifted her eyes, saying nothing.

  
  
"You did," Natasha said softly, holding out her hand.

  
  
The queen took it, and her champion's gentle touched eased the ache last night had set in her heart.

  
  
She didn't know what they were anymore, a champion and her queen, a witch and her assassin.

  
  
But whatever happened, they'd face it together.

  
  
✶      ✶      ✶

  
  
"Block!" Natasha shouted, snapping her staff against Wanda's unguarded side.

  
  
Wanda groaned, retreating swiftly. She was regretting her agreement to spar with her champion one last time before they left for Sokovia—if tonight's plan succeeded.

  
  
"I don't see how this is preparing me for tonight,” Wanda panted, clutching her side. “Ballgowns don’t exactly go with bruises.”

  
  
Nat laughed, spinning her staff in a gesture Wanda wished she could replicate. “This is just a warm-up. I don’t want you sitting around worrying in the time we have left. Might as well prepare as much as we can.”

  
  
She twisted, aiming a strike for Wanda’s calf. The queen darted away, holding up her staff with aching hands. The sand beneath her feet wasn’t making this fight any easier, and a few nobles had gathered on the shore to watch the Sokovian queen with a death wish spar her immortal champion.

  
  
“If you let me use my magic, you’d be on your ass.”

  
  
“And if Declan takes your powers? What are you going to do then, spit on him?”

  
  
Wanda growled, snapping her stick at Nat’s chest. The woman blocked, baring her teeth in a wolf’s laugh.

  
  
“There she is. Show me what you’ve got, majesty.”

  
  
Wanda blew out a breath through dry lips, shifting on the balls of her feet. “I can do this all day.”

  
  
Nat smirked, something predatory taking over her gaze, and Wanda wondered if she’d made a mistake in accepting Nat’s staff.

  
  
Her champion charged, and Wanda struck with her staff, shoving all of her weight into the blow, and Nat kicked her ankle, sending the queen tumbling to the ground.

  
  
She gasped as her back slammed into the hot sand, blinking as she took in the pink sky above her, Nat’s weight on top of her. "

 

You alright?” Natasha asked, just slightly out of breath.

  
  
Wanda nodded jerkily, hyper-aware of Nat’s lips inches from her own. She may have imagined the moment Nat glanced to her mouth, pupils dilated.

  
  
Wanda swallowed, and the moment passed like it had never happened. Nat leapt to her feet, pulling Wanda up like she was weightless. “Good. Do that again.”

  
  


✶      ✶      ✶

 

  
  
Half an hour later, Wanda was soaked in sweat, covered in sand, and ready to sleep for two weeks straight.

  
  
Natasha was glowing, walking beside her, still twirling her staff between her fingers as they walked back into the palace. “That was a good start.”

  
  
Wanda huffed. “I only hit you once.”

  
  
Nat stopped in front of the door of the royals’ council room, that little smirk Wanda loved so much playing across her lips. “Very few people can say that. It took Clint weeks, and he cheated.”

  
  
Wanda grinned. “I want to hear that story.”

  
  
“If we survive tonight, I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” Nat opened the door, and they sat in the same chairs from last time, Nat clapping Clint on the shoulder.

  
  
Wanda took in the others already seated, smile growing on her lips. Tony and Strange sat beside each other, hands clasped together on the table. Nicholas sat at the head of the table again, Thor and Jane on either side. And then there was her, prodigal queen, her immortal champion, and her new best friend and chef-slash-spy. (She wasn’t sure what Clint did, honestly.)

  
  
She never imagined she’d be part of a revolution like this. She didn’t deserve this second chance—deserved to die a thousand times for the pain she’d caused—but while she breathed she’d avenge those who’d fallen.

  
  
Her stomach growled, and she frowned at the empty table.

  
  
“You bringing lunch again?” she asked Clint hopefully.

  
  
“Um,” he started, glancing around the table.

  
  
“We just ate,” Nat chided.

  
  
“Yes, and then you whacked me with a stick for two hours. I deserve some of that amazing bread.”

  
  
“I’ll be right back,” Clint said, rising from his chair. “Don’t start without me.”

  
  
“Okay,” Nicholas said as soon as Clint had left. “Let’s begin.”

  
  
Wanda listened as the adults discussed strategy and laid out palace floor plans, pointing at exits and potential hazards. She just watched, feeling like a nine-year-old watching her mother and Agatha talk politics and magical threats from far off kingdoms.

  
  
Like she wanted to help, but was nowhere near ready.

  
  
Clint came back with bread and wine, and Wanda dove for the basket, past caring what her comrades thought.

  
  
“We have confirmation from our spies that Declan is currently in Erus, half a day’s ride from the Vongastan border.” Nicholas said, plucking a piece of bread from the basket.

  
  
Wanda bit her tongue to keep from saying something she knew she’d regret.

  
(Crossing Nicholas didn’t seem like a good idea, anyways. The man may only have one eye, but she suspected he saw everything.)

  
  
She nodded, ignoring her still-rumbling stomach. She would act like a queen and have a proper meal when she wasn’t in the middle of a war council.

  
  
“So the warlock shows up, Strange and I capture him with our magic, then what?” Wanda asked.

  
  
Strange leaned forward, hand still grasping Tony’s.

  
  
Wanda stared at their intertwined fingers for a moment, familiar ache beating in her chest with every thump of her heart.

  
  
“Tony has helped me to devise a cage that will hold Declan until we can figure out a more permanent solution.”

  
  
“We can’t just… stab him?” Jane spoke up from beside Nicholas, chin resting on her hand elegantly. Wanda wished she had that kind of grace. For now, she’d settle for reckless but passionate idiocity.   
  
  
  
Wanda held back a snort. She'd love to see Nat stab the monster masquerading as a man. She'd stab him herself, if she wasn't such a coward.

  
  
"No," Nat said, something strange in her voice. "I've tried."

  
  
The room had been quiet before, but it was silent now, all eyes on Nat.

  
  
"As far as I know, he is truly immortal. Nothing of this world can kill him."

  
  
"What about magic?" Wanda asked softly, turning to her champion. "If it can contain him, is there a spell that can kill him?"

  
  
Even if she wasn't the one to cut his throat, Wanda wanted the warlock dead.

  
  
No one got to murder her parents and walk away.

  
  
Nat pursed her lips. "It's possible, but his knowledge of the arcane is infinite. He's fortified his body and mind for centuries. Anyone who's fought him has lost."

  
  
Except for you, Wanda wanted to say, but held her tongue. She wouldn't push her champion in front of their friends and allies. She knew Nat had secrets still, and Wanda had accepted that. Yes, she wanted her champion to trust her with everything—but she wouldn't force her to share anything.

  
  
After tonight, they had all the time in the world. Wanda was looking forward to it.

  
  
"You said you crafted some kind of cage?" Clint prompted Strange, tossing a chunk of bread into his mouth.

  
  
Wanda discreetly grabbed the basket, hoping no one would judge her for taking three pieces.

  
  
"Yes. We just have to lure Declan inside it. Then only I can open it, with this," Stephen said, tapping the pulsing green pendant hanging against his chest.

  
  
"Good," Nicholas said, although his expression hadn't changed from "some motherfucker just ate the last piece of bread and I'm starving."

  
  
"Let's go over what we know, then. Our target is a psychotic warlock who wants to steal magic from everyone, killing a lot of people in the process. If he shows tonight, we'll take care of him with a magic cage. If he's got cronies, we'll neutralize them. Got it?"

  
  
Wanda nodded, and a few others murmured in agreement.

  
  
"So here's how things will go down…”


	10. forever is my heart

Wanda's skirts rustled softly as she drifted through the crowded banquet hall, dipping her chin to acknowledge those who beamed at her, offered gifts and well-wishes. 

 

She thanked them all, offered Sokovia's solidarity with their countries and people, but the words barely registered in her head. 

 

She was sailing without a captain, floating in a dead sea the moments before a hurricane flipped the sea and sky, or a tentacled monster rose from the depths and crushed oblivious sailors in a deadly embrace.

 

Her lips lifted at the thought. Thinking of sea monsters made her think of Pietro, and the time he'd tried to smuggle home a flesh-eating fish from the swamps of Ritera. Their father had been furious, but Natalya had laughed, and let her son keep the creature in a glass bowl for months. (Until he'd knocked it over with a sword, killing the fish. He'd cried for weeks.) 

 

"Enjoying yourself?" Clint asked, coming up beside the young queen. Wanda arched a brow at him, taking in the crisp lines of his black tunic, the dark stone hanging at his throat.

 

"Am I supposed to?" Wanda replied, pressing at creases in her dress that weren't there. He chuckled, and they walked to one of the balconies together. Wanda inhaled deeply, the cool, ocean breeze calming her simmering thoughts. 

 

"I like your pendant," she said, forearms braced against the stone balcony. 

 

He held up the dark stone, a stripe of cerulean blue from its depths shimmering in the moonlight. "Thanks. Nat gave it to me, years ago. It's a stone called hawk's eye." 

 

"Fitting," she said, lips curling into a smile as she met Clint's focused gaze. 

 

She turned to the garden below them, softly glowing lanterns lighting crushed shell pathways where lovers darted into shadowy alcoves, stealing the breath from each other's lungs. 

 

Wanda looked up to the horizon, the stars twinkling across the tapestry of the night, cold and unknowing. 

 

"So what is the story between you two? Nat never told me." Wanda tried to keep her voice level, casual, but she  _ needed  _ to know what exactly had transpired between Clint and her champion to make them so close now. 

 

Wanda had—mostly—gotten over her initial jealousy, but she still was tortured by curiosity, wondering what could have happened between the two. (No, it didn't keep her up at night. Definitely not.) 

 

Clint sighed heavily, leaning forward on the railing. "I was a mercenary for a while," he said after a beat. "My parents died, my brother turned to drugs and brothels, and I became the best archer on the planet." 

 

He laughed a little, looking down at his hands. "I started to lose myself, my worth. Nat rescued me. Well, I rescued her first." 

 

Wanda snorted. "She seems to do a lot of rescuing." 

 

He nodded. "It's who she is," he said softly. 

 

They stood in silence for a while. Wanda enjoyed the quiet, the peace and cool air after the noisy banquet hall with its eager nobles and overwhelming lights and smells. 

 

She suspected Clint felt the same. For all that he blended in with their little group of rarities, as they walked back into the ballroom he shone like a dark star, surrounded by pastel jewels. She understood, now, what Nat had seen in him—if they had been anything more than incredibly close friends who bonded over the typical things: dead parents, body counts, the best way to kill a man. 

 

Clint gestured to a servant for drinks, and moments later he and Wanda stood in a circle of their comrades, drinks in everyone's hands. 

 

Wanda stepped closer to Stephen, lowering her voice. (Although with the rumble of voices and flute music, she doubted anyone outside their circle could hear. "Have you heard anything?" 

 

He shook his head. "No sign of Declan or any of his minions." 

 

Wanda bit her lip. "What if he just... doesn't show?" 

 

"He will. Trust me." 

 

She nodded tersely, turning her focus back to their group. 

 

Tony was telling a grand story to Thor and Jane, Peter and Clint were snickering in the background, and Tony was gesturing to Nicholas, who looked ready to give Stephen's husband an uppercut he'd never forget. 

 

The witch sighed and strode over to his husband, murmuring in his ear. Tony perked up, wide smile making the corners of his eyes pinch, and he winked at Wanda. 

 

"Come on, let's dance!" Tony cried, offering Wanda his arm. 

 

She frowned. "I don't—" 

 

"This plan will only work if you try not to look like someone's about to die," Strange said pointedly. 

 

Wanda scowled at him, then looked to Tony, the proffered hand. 

 

A small smile slid across her face, and she took his hand. 

 

They raced to the center of the room just as the next song started, a lively rendition of a song her mother had often sung at home, while embroidering or drawing new runes. 

 

Gods, Wanda missed her. 

 

Tony squeezed her hand gently, and she looked up, her smile faded. "Sorry. Just—thinking." 

 

"I get it," he said, moving in time with the music. Wanda followed, searching the crowds around them for a face she hadn't seen all night. 

 

"Looking for someone in particular?" Tony asked, lifting his hand to spin Wanda. 

 

She followed his lead, focusing on the dance's steps and not the way her cheeks warmed. "Maybe." 

 

Tony snorted at her answer. "She's around here somewhere. She likes to hide in corners with Clint and scare the shit out of me." 

 

Wanda laughed at the image, the steady thrum of tension racing across her skin easing slightly. 

 

"I'm nervous," she admitted, and she hoped Tony didn't notice how sweaty her palms were. 

 

The music swelled around them, a crescendo of emotion, and Tony spun her again. "So was I, my first time. Fighting an evil immortal warlock, I mean."

 

She raised a brow. "That makes me feel so much better." 

 

He bowed to her dramatically, and she curtsied, feeling like a princess again. 

 

Queens curtsied to no one. 

 

Wanda wasn't your average queen. 

 

The song ended, and the nobles applauded politely.  Tony held out his hand again as the next song started, and Wanda was about to take it when her favorite voice said "Excuse me, Stark, but I need to borrow my queen for a moment."

 

Wanda turned to Nat, eyes widening as she took in her appearance. 

 

Natasha's scarlet hair was pulled up into an elegant updo, soft curls framing her face. Her dress was red as blood, the fabric darkening to midnight black at the bodice and bottom of her skirts. 

 

Wanda tore her eyes away from a slit that ran up the side of her champion's dress, swallowing hard. "You look—you look beautiful," she said, voice slightly hoarse. 

 

She heard Tony snicker and wander off, hailing a servant carrying drinks, but everything in her was focused on Nat. 

 

"So do you," Nat said softly, eyes saying things Wanda didn't know how to interpret. "Did Strange make that for you?" She gestured to the diadem atop Wanda's hair. 

 

Wanda laughed, not caring that they were the only two people standing still in the room, nobles twirling around them like they were the center of gravity, everything else drawn into their orbit like the moon around the sun. 

 

"No. Well, he gave me the fabric. Jane turned it into a crown of sorts." 

 

Wanda's hands adjusted the diadem. She'd been surprised at the weight of it when Jane had first placed it upon her head, but it had become a strangely comforting presence, the jewels pressing into her forehead. 

 

"You look like the queen you're meant to be," Nat said. 

 

Wanda flushed, looking away. "is something wrong?" she asked, remembering how her champion had stolen her away from Tony. Gods, she hoped nothing was wrong. What if Declan had shown?

 

Nat shook her head, holding out a hand. "Everything's fine," she said, smiling as Wanda took her hand. "I wanted to dance with  you." 

 

"Oh." 

 

Wanda's eyes widened as Nat pulled her in close, one hand encircling her waist, the other clasping Wanda's hand. 

 

Wanda carefully set her free hand on Nat's bare shoulder, her skin soft beneath Wanda's fingers. 

 

Gods. They danced slowly, for all that the musicians were playing a lively jig, but the music didn't matter. The others didn't matter, the fact that this whole party was a trap for a murderer didn't matter. 

 

She was in Nat's arms, and she was content. 

 

"So, there was something I wanted to talk about," Nat murmured, pulling Wanda flush to her after a spin. 

 

Wanda's skirts flew around her, and she stared up at Nat, breathless. 

 

"Lately, I've been thinking." 

 

"Oh no," Wanda said, grinning cheekily, but her heard thundered in her chest and she was sure the whole palace could hear it. 

 

Nat gave her a look. 

 

Wanda laughed, pressing her forehead to Nat's shoulder. Nat's grip tightened on her waist. "About us."

 

Wanda straightened, lifting her head to gape at Natasha, hoping her eyes didn't betray her whirlwind of emotions. "Really?"

 

Nat smiled almost shyly, opening her mouth to make a reply that completely break Wanda's heart or let it fly. 

 

But the cheerful fiddles and violins screeched to a halt, and Stephen appeared beside Nat, expression grim. "He's here."

 

Sparks immediately began to glow around Wanda's hands. Nat let her go, stepping in front of her queen and pulling a dagger out of her bodice. 

 

Wanda's gaze caught on the dark steel, the strange runes carved into the hilt. 

 

Then the doors slammed open, a man in green appearing at the top of the stairs. 

 

"Throwing this gala just for me? You shouldn't have," he said, walking down the marble steps. 

 

The room was silent, everyone staring at the man.

 

If he could be called human, after all the horrors he'd done. 

 

Thor strode forward, head held high. "You are not welcome here," he said, hand going to the hammer at his belt. 

 

"I could say the same for you," the man who could only be Declan Dane said, flicking his wrist. 

 

Thor flew across the room, slamming straight through one of the arched windows, glass raining upon the innocent crowds. 

 

"We have to get everyone out," Wanda said urgently, but Nat was already running, practically flying towards Declan. 

 

"No!" Wanda shouted, but she could only watch as the warlock smirked, saying a word in a language not from this world. 

 

Natasha collapsed before him, and Wanda growled. 

 

She sent a blast of power at his heart, but he sidestepped, and the red burst exploded against the staircase. 

 

Wanda was aware of Nicholas and Jane herding guests out through the kitchen entrance across the room, people crying and screaming as Declan laughed wickedly. 

 

She stalked forward, slamming her wrists together. 

 

Strange joined her, and she glanced at him before ripping her hands apart, a glittering ball of power between her palms. 

 

"Together," Strange said, flicking his fingers and summoning his golden shield. 

 

"Always," Wanda replied, and a spike of emotion made her heart gallop. Those had been among her mother's last words. 

 

She hoped her mother was watching, as she strode forward with a witch whose power was unrivaled. 

 

They'd destroy him together. 

 

If only things hadn't gone so terribly wrong. 

 

Wanda held out her hand, and Strange took it, gold and red becoming orange as their magic spiraled towards Declan. 

 

The warlock didn't move, just smiled as a surge of chaos magic hit him square in the chest. 

 

His eyes turned golden, snapping to Wanda's, and her blood ran cold. 

 

Shit. If they couldn't beat him with magic, then how? 

 

"A good attempt," Declan said, running a hand through his dark hair. Wanda noticed a thin green streak running through the black locks. 

 

"Almost as good as your ridiculous haircut," Wanda replied, summoning another surge of power. This time, she flattened it out like Strange's shield, throwing it over Natasha. 

 

Her champion still lay crumpled on the floor, but Wanda could see her chest rising and falling. She wouldn't let the monster do anything worse to her champion. 

 

"How precious. You got attached," Declan smirked. 

 

Wanda bared her teeth. She felt eyes on her, and knew without looking that Clint and Tony were at her back.

 

"Now if you'll kindly stand still for a moment, I'll just lift your powers and be on my way."

 

"I have a better offer: leave before we kill you," Strange snapped.

 

Declan laughed delightedly, clapping his hands. "You are truly impressive in person," he said to Strange, and Wanda dared to glance behind her. 

 

Clint was edging up behind her, and Tony was pretending he wasn't toeing a piece of window-glass closer with his foot. 

 

All the guests and servants had gotten to safety, and the hall was eerily empty, glass littering the floor. 

 

"I really would keep a closer eye on your, ah— _ son _ ," Declan said, and Wanda's skin itched at the disgust in the warlock's voice. 

 

Strange rushed at Declan, summoning a fiery sword. "You don't talk about him."

 

The warlock just smiled, and Strange stumbled straight through the man, falling onto the marble stairs. He groaned, pulling himself to his feet. 

 

Wanda stared at him, fear in her eyes. Declan had vanished. 

 

"Where's Peter?" Tony demanded, and Wanda turned to see him gripping his hair, voice panicked. 

 

"I'll look for him," Clint said, and he ran to the servant's kitchen entrance. 

 

Wanda was wondering if killing the warlock was such a bad idea as his laughter filled the room. She whirled, but there was no sign of the man. 

 

He hadn't even brought any assassins or cronies. (Not that she was complaining, she had no intentions of seeking out another tengu.)

 

Then Peter appeared, Nicholas beside him, and Wanda knew their plan had gone horribly wrong. 

 

Both of their eyes were glowing a sickly green. 

 

"Peter," Strange said slowly, relaxing his fists. A glowing shield swiftly grew in front of Tony. 

 

Out of the corner of her eye, Clint started creeping towards them, hugging the mosaic'd walls. Wanda shook her head at him, but he ignored her, stalking closer. 

 

"Hello, Strange," Peter said, in a voice not his own. "Young minds are so wonderful, don't you think? So easy to manipulate.... to hurt." Declan's voice turned low in Peter's throat, and suddenly the boy screamed, pitching forward onto the ground. 

 

Nicholas kept walking, stopping very close to Wanda and staring at her with hollow green eyes. 

 

"Strange," she said softly, swallowing down terror.  _  She could not fight her friends.  _

 

"Once last chance," Peter gasped, the boy clutching his head, tears in his eyes. Tony was at his side, close as he could get without touching his son with the flaming shield. 

 

"Show yourself, demon," Strange demanded, eyes darting from Wanda to Peter. 

 

She thought he was trying to tell her something, but she couldn't tell what. 

 

"If you ask nicely," Peter said, eyes squeezed shut. Rage boiled in Wanda. She couldn't imagine the pain Declan was carving into him where they couldn't see.

 

"Please," Wanda said quickly, because Strange looked ready to strangle the air until his hands found Declan’s neck. 

 

The Warlock appeared beside her, resting his head on Nicholas's shoulder. "See what good things happen when you use your manners?" 

 

Strange moved his hands in a complex motion, and a flashing golden circle appeared behind Declan. Wanda could see the room where she'd fought the tengu through it. 

 

Strange started to speak, probably along the lines of  _ I'll deal with him, you stay here,  _ but Wanda was already moving, running at Declan and shoving him through the portal. 

 

The two magic-wielders tumbled to the ground, but Declan was instantly on his feet, shoving a palm towards Wanda. 

 

An invisible hand started squeezing her throat, and she writhed in its grip, Declan laughing above her. 

 

She really hated that laugh. 

 

Gods. Dying in the torture room of a foreign nation's palace, and her last thoughts were about a stupid warlock's maleficent laugh. 

 

She was  _ not _ dying this way. 

 

Wanda bucked against the deadly grip at her throat, vision going dark as she gasped for air. 

 

"You're pathetic, really," Declan sighed, examining at his nails. "I came all the way from Angloterra and for what? Yes, my spies tell me your powers are magnificent, but at your age I was tearing down mountains. I'm a little disappointed, dear." 

 

Wanda stopped listening to Declan's cocky words the second he mentioned Angloterra.  _ Pietro  _ was there, with Vis, and by all the gods, if anything had happened to him—

 

She grabbed the invisible hand at her throat, pouring her magic into her palms until they glowed red. 

 

After an agonizing moment, the hand fell away, and Wanda gasped for breath, her empty lungs aching. 

 

"Interesting," Declan said, watching Wanda like she was an intriguing bug he wanted to dissect, a butterfly he wanted to pin against a wall in some vile castle. 

 

She shuddered, scrambling to her feet. "What did you do to Pietro," she said lowly.

 

He smiled at her, leaning against the wall behind him. "Nothing at all. He looked so happy, in that castle with his lover and new friends. He didn't seem to miss you at all." 

 

Wanda's heart clenched, but she shook her head, fingers balling into fists. "So you didn't kill him?" 

 

A laugh fell from Declan's lips, and he shook his head, smiling at Wanda like she was a slow child. "No, little princess. He is no value to me. What do I, who have lived for a thousand years, need from a boy who's only magic is swift feet? Oh no, it is much more fun to watch you struggle, knowing that he is alive and detests you." 

 

"That's not true," Wanda said, but her voice shook. 

 

He tutted. "Truth is relative. You'll see that I'm right, when you go home and he'd rather not come back."

 

She stared at him. 

 

"Oh, did no one tell you? I have no desire to kill you, Wanda. Or anyone. You see, those who oppose me want me dead because I love magic. They are the murderers."

 

His eyes flashed, something dark in them, and Wanda kept her hands at her sides, everything in her telling her to use her powers. But he would only get angry. 

 

And he already seemed unstable. 

 

"You killed my parents," Wanda said. " _ You _ are a murderer." 

 

Declan sighed, hands in the pockets of his elegant jacket. "That was a tragedy, and I do regret their deaths. But they would have killed me, Wanda! What was I to do? Your parents claimed to support magic-wielders, but Natalya loathed me. Cast me out, sent witches to heckle me and my family. I did what I had to for their protection." 

 

"You're a monster," she breathed, refusing to believe anything he said. 

 

History was written by the survivors. Declan could swear anything was true about her parents, and she'd be a fool to believe him. 

 

"So what exactly  _ was _ your plan," he asked, stepping away from the wall and walking past her, surveying the room. 

 

Wanda watched him warily. 

 

"There was something in good old Nick's mind about a cage, but—" 

 

The second Declan stepped into the center of the room, Wanda slammed her wrists together, shouting the word of power Strange had taught her the day before.

 

A beam of light shot from the ceiling to the warlock's feet, where runes were scrawled onto the stone floor with fire-ash. (Strange was too pretentious of a witch to use blood.) 

 

Declan roared, face becoming twisted with rage as he slammed his fist where only air should have been. 

 

"Even if I can't kill you," Wanda murmured, studying the warlock, his skin yellowed inside the circle of light, "there are ways an immortal can suffer. Ways you made me suffer." 

 

"You wouldn't," he snarled, handsome face distorted with fury. 

 

"Watch me," she said, voice flat and toneless. 

 

Some would argue that she shouldn't torture a caged man, for all that he was a monster. 

 

She doubted those people had ever been tortured themselves. 

 

Wanda tilted her head side to side, cracking her neck, and inhaled deeply, magic rising within her like Tiamat's waves. 

 

She prayed the goddess would forgive her for the sins she was about to commit. 

 

Declan had only just started screaming when a crash sounded from outside. Wanda whipped around, hands aching from the power bubbling within them. 

 

"Wanda?" Nat called, and something heavy slammed into the iron door separating the queen of chaos and her prisoner from the outside world.

 

Declan started laughing, blood dripping from his nostrils, and Wanda tightened her fist, sending him to his knees. 

 

"Go away!" Wanda shouted, glancing to the locked iron door. "I've got this." 

 

There was no response from the other side, and Wanda turned her gaze back to Declan, tapping her fingers against her thigh, the silky fabric of her dress soft against her aching hands. 

 

And then the wall behind her exploded. 

 

A wave of power sent Wanda flying, crashing against the wall of light encasing Declan. 

 

She fell to the floor, groaning as bits of metal struck her skin. 

 

"Oh," Declan said, and Wanda looked up to him, smiling at something behind her. "Hello daughter." 

 

Wanda stumbled to her feet, eyes widening as she took in Natasha. Her hair was mussed, her dress torn, but there was fire in her eyes, dancing along her hands. 

 

"What?" Wanda whispered. Her world was falling apart—had been, since Nat had walked into her life. 

 

"By the gods," Declan said, standing and wiping the blood from his lips. "She didn't tell you?" 

 

Wanda ignored Declan, stared at her champion. 

 

_ Her champion.  _

 

"I'm sorry," Nat said softly, expression raw and broken.

 

Wanda's stomach dropped. "He's telling the truth," she said. It wasn't a question. 

 

The pain in Nat's eyes was the only answer she needed. 

 

"I thought your parents were dead." Wanda's voice had once again become flat, emotionless. But she couldn't stop staring at Natasha, gaze catching at the gems hanging from her earlobes, the ash on her cheek. 

 

"They are to me." 

 

Declan gasped dramatically. "You wound me, child," he said. "I suppose the world hasn't changed much in a hundred years." Wanda looked back at him and every curse she knew entered her mind at once. 

 

The warlock was no longer in the circle of light, but standing beside it, adjusting his emerald jacket. 

 

"Well. That was fun," he said, voice casual despite the fact that he'd just escaped a cage that no human should be able to. 

 

Wanda just stared at him, unable to comprehend the fact that he was Natasha's father. 

 

Rather, that Natasha had  _ lied  _ about him being her father. 

 

Declan said something else, but Wanda had stopped listening.  _ Her champion. _

 

And then the pain started, like nothing she'd felt before. 

 

Declan's hands were pressed to her temples, and he grinned maniacally as he  _ pulled  _  Wanda's powers from deep inside her. 

 

She tried to resist, grabbing at his wrists, but he shoved her into the cage made of light, nails digging into her scalp. 

 

She let herself scream. 

 

There was no one who could hear her. 

 

After a moment, an eternity of torment, he eased his grip, and Wanda sank to her knees, the cool stone unforgiving against her bones. 

 

But it was a relief, a sensation that did not cause blinding pain. 

 

Her ears registered the crack of a hand against flesh, and she lifted her gaze. 

 

Nat had a hand pressed to her cheek, wincing. 

 

Declan frowned at her, hands on his hips. "You still had magic?"

 

Wanda's breath caught. 

 

"Barely an ember," Nat said, lifting a hand. Flames licked across her palm, small but bright. 

 

"Fascinating," he said. "I knew there was potential in you." 

 

"I never wanted it  _ because _ of you," Nat hissed, clenching her fist. The flames vanished, and Wanda knew that if they survived this, there was a tome of things she and Nat had to discuss. (Well, more like Wanda shouting and Nat listening. Gods, she hoped they survived.) 

 

Wanda watched the family reunion, not taking her eyes off Nat as she slowly reached out to touch the edge of the circle, the harsh line of light. It burned her fingertips, and she winced, withdrawing her hand. 

 

Declan shook his head tiredly. Wanda wondered what it had been like, to grow up with him as her father. 

 

Dread filled her. She had no idea how Nat had survived. 

 

"You always had a soft heart," he sighed. "Especially for pathetic, broken things." He glanced to Wanda, kneeling in the beam of light, blood trickling down her forehead, where Declan's nails had dug into her skin.

 

"Better than no heart at all," Nat said, voice dangerously soft. 

 

"She will watch you die." he said viciously.

 

Wanda didn't blink, hands going to the liquid dripping into her eye.

 

"Haven't I told you love is for children?" 

 

Nat flinched at his words as if she'd been struck, and Declan pounced, slamming his hands onto her head. 

 

Her eyes rolled back, weakly tugging at Declan's arms, but he did not stop, smile vicious. 

 

Wanda could see Nat's veins through her skin. They glowed gold, and seeped into Declan's hands. 

 

The queen's heart stuttered as she realized what he was doing, and she dropped her blood-stained fingers, pressing them to the cold floor. 

 

"Please," she said, thanking the gods when Declan turned to her, releasing his grip on his daughter. 

 

Natasha sagged against the wall, panting, and the warlock smirked as he ambled up to Wanda's cage, tapping the hard light of its walls. 

 

"Something you'd like to say?" he asked, and somehow there was joy in his eyes. 

 

Wanda had never really hated anyone, but she hated him. 

 

"Why?" she demanded, hands still on the stone floor, palms flat against the slick stone. "Why take everyone else's magic? Isn't your own enough?" 

 

"Ah, yes, the old trick," he smirked. "Trying to keep me talking, stalling for time? Well, princess, I am afraid you are out of time." He lifted a hand, and Nat rose in the air, struggling like a kitten in the hands of a cruel owner. He flicked his wrist, and she flew into the wall. 

 

The crack her skull made as it collided against stone was the most terrifying thing Wanda had ever heard.

 

Nat seemed to fall slowly, crumpling to the ground. She did not rise, and Wanda stopped breathing. 

 

"You're going to die," she told him, fingers trembling against the stone floor. 

 

He laughed, sliding his palms together. "On the contrary, darling. You could have prevented this mess. Seems like death follows you everywhere," he mused, lifting his gaze to the ceiling, where the cage's light streamed onto the floor. 

 

"Because of you," Wanda said softly. She looked down at the floor, narrowing her eyes at the rune she'd drawn in blood.

 

He chuckled. "You and I are the same, Wanda. Relics, living in an age of miracles." 

 

Wanda locked eyes with the warlock. "There is nothing more horrifying than a miracle."

 

"What is—" Declan snapped, the first time she'd heard fear in his voice, and Wanda grinned up at him, teeth bloodstained, as she slammed her wrists together. 

 

Power exploded from her hands, the runes carved into her skin and drawn against the stones glowing scarlet. 

 

Wanda stood, walking through the cage's light, now dim as dusk. 

 

"I don't lie anymore," she said, walking up to the warlock. He was struggling to his feet. The blast had thrown him across the room. 

 

She planted a foot on his chest, shoving him down. "You know what I realized, after I got these?" she asked him, sparks swirling around her glowing hands, the runes on her wrists black as night. 

 

He stared up at her, teeth bared. 

 

She didn't wait for a response. "I have to be my own savior. No more putting my champion or my mother on a pedestal and waiting for them to save the day." 

 

"How endearing, you've become a woman," he panted, eyes like poison, and she pushed her full weight onto his chest, relishing in the pain twisting his mouth. 

 

"For so long, I was scared of my magic. Afraid of becoming a monster. And in doing so, I became my own nightmare." 

 

She paused, looking across the room to Nat's crumpled body. She gritted her teeth, pressing her foot down harder, and Declan gasped. Something in him cracked, and her lips curled. "I told myself it was wrong to kill you. I changed my mind.

 

“I don't need a crutch. I don't need a magic knife, or enchanted fabric to teach me control. You're afraid of me. I'm all I need to kill you." 

 

She stepped off of his chest, smirking at his pained grunt as she knelt beside him. 

 

"I'm going to choke you to death," she whispered, hand brushing a lock of hair from his forehead, fingers gentle. "And I'm going to enjoy it." 

 

So she did. It wasn't her first murder, but it was the first one she committed knowingly, without her magic. 

 

Wanda knelt beside Declan's body when it was over, staring at his lifeless eyes. 

 

She didn't want to move, to face the world. 

 

Something touched her shoulder, and she tucked her chin to her chest, accepting whatever fate the gods had for her. "If you're going to kill me, do it quickly," she said. 

 

She had wondered when one of Declan's assassins would show up. 

 

Better late than never, she supposed. 

 

"That's the last thing I want to do," Natasha said, smile in her voice, and Wanda jumped to her feet, heedless of her exhausted body's protests. 

 

"I thought you were dead," Wanda breathed, staring at her champion. 

 

There was blood matting her hair on one side, and bruises blossoming across her face, but she was  _ alive _ .

 

"I was," Nat said, staring at her hands with something like awe. "This room disappeared, and I was in the ocean, watching you give your necklace to Tiamat. I went under, and when I opened my eyes I was back. Your goddess..." Nat's lips quirked up. "Let's just say I'm glad she likes you." 

 

Wanda blinked. "He's dead," she breathed, looking back to Declan"s corpse. Nat touched her cheek, nudging Wanda's chin until the queen faced her. "I know. You did the right thing." 

 

"I  _ killed _ him. I—" Nat pulled her into a hug, one hand palming the back of her head. Wanda felt like crying, but she didn't know why.

 

Her champion held her tightly, rubbing circles into Wanda's back. They were quiet for a while, the terror of the night seeping away from Wanda's mind.

 

"I'm still mad at you," she sniffled, voice muffled in Nat's dress. 

 

"You should be. I promise, I'll never lie to you again," Nat murmured, bringing up a hand to cup Wanda's cheek, brushing away a lone tear that had slid down her cheek. 

 

They stood like that for a long time, and Wanda keenly felt the fragility of life in the air around them. 

 

She was blood and she was iron. 

 

Together, they were the fire and the flood. 

 

She knew this, and gently let go of Natasha, smiling up at her champion. "I swear the same." 

 

She took Nat's hand, pressing her lips against the woman's bloodied knuckles. "A queen's promise." 

 

✶      ✶      ✶

 

Wanda would miss this place. 

 

The blue castle's walls of epic mosaics, the sly blushing pink as the ocean rose to meet her. 

 

If Wanda was a poet, she'd wax on about the infinite sea, how Natasha was each frothing white wave, each grain of sand that together created a world they could not understand. 

 

But loved so dearly.

 

Wanda was not a poet, and she knew now that no matter how lovely another person made her feel—no matter how extraordinary—she was not an ocean, or a sun. 

 

Natasha was not the sea, not a tsunami crashing upon Wanda's heart.

 

They were both only human, skin and bones and undaunted heart, bolder than gods.

 

And that was just as beautiful as the golden sun across a rosy sky, the blue mist against her face. 

 

"We should visit, after everything's settled here," Nat said, brushing the back of her hand against Wanda's.

 

The queen turned to her, smile radiant. "I'd love that." 

 

"You guys ready?" Tony asked, stepping up to Wanda. She nodded, looking past him to the nobles gathered. 

 

Now she knew their names, had memorized their smiles and laughter. 

 

"You should come to Sokovia, sometime," she said, and they walked to the rest of their group. 

 

Peter stood by the horses Wanda and Nat had ridden to the blue palace only a week ago. (Gods, it felt like she'd lived a thousand lives on this shore.)

 

Wanda smiled at him, and he waved, bounding to her side. "Your horse’s manners are terrible," he said, glancing back at the white stallion. "Thor said he was swearing like a soldier in the stables." 

 

Wanda raised a brow, biting her cheek to keep from laughing. 

 

"Did he now," Nat said, clapping Peter on the back. His eyes were clear, free of Declan's possession. Once Declan had died, Peter and Nicholas had returned to themselves, thank the gods. Wanda never wanted to deal with another possession in her life. 

 

Peter nodded eagerly at Nat’s words, and the queen and her champion shared a smile. 

 

Their little group quieted, and Strange stepped forward. "I can summon the portal at your command, Wanda," he said, his scarlet cape swirling around him. 

 

"Thank you," Wanda said, and clasped her hands before her. "Before we go home, I'd like to say something." 

 

Her new family's eyes were on her, but she wasn't nervous. "I want to thank the Vongastan people, and their rulers, for welcoming me in a time of need," she said, nodding to Thor and Jane, standing in the little circle holding hands. The words were formal, but they were full of truth. "And to all of you, who have helped me grow and caught me after many falls," she said. Nat elbowed her, and she smiled at her champion. "Sokovia will always welcome you. And I will not forget your good hearts, or your kin, if you are ever in need." 

 

"We're glad we could help in any way, Majesty," Jane said, and then they were all hugging and laughing, and Wanda hadn't expected to cry, but here she was, tears sparkling in her eyes like sunlight on the water. 

 

"Will you come with us?" Wanda asked Clint, holding tightly to Nat's hand. A week ago, she would have rather had the bread thief on the other side of the ocean, and Nat all to herself. But she had grown in ways she couldn't begin to understand. 

 

People didn't belong to other people, although they often gave up their hearts and selves. 

 

Clint shook his head, smiling wryly. "I've got to keep these kids in order," he said, jerking a thumb at Nicholas and Strange, bickering over some policy agreement Tony had stretched. 

 

Wanda nodded, pulling him into another hug. "Come visit soon?" 

 

"Of course. Who knows what my favorite champion-queen duo will get up to without my supervision?" 

 

Wanda snorted, pulling away. She hadn't cried happy tears in a long time.

 

Finally, the goodbyes were said, horses wrangled, and portal opened. 

 

Wanda couldn't keep her eyes away from the window Strange had opened, she and the Vongastans on one side and  _ home _ on the other. 

 

Although her definition of home had changed. Even if she never belonged in any palace or hovel on this planet, she had people who were more comforting than a soft bed, a champion warmer than fire. 

 

"Ready?" Wanda asked, fingers still twined with Natasha's. 

 

Her champion smiled at her, and yes she believed people were not suns but by the gods _ ,  _ Nat's happiness glowed out of her like a zoetic star. 

 

So they stepped through the portal together, and into a world reborn.


	11. prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> if u made it this far , thank u :) i hope this story touched u just a little bit . 💙

Wanda hadn't wanted another party. Pietro had paced and scowled, exclaiming about the need to appear unified as a nation. 

 

She held back a scathing retort. Her twin mattered more to her than getting the last word. 

 

Two weeks after she and Nat had stepped through Strange's portal, Wanda sat in the queen's box overlooking a dirt field, all the grass trampled by eager knights. 

 

The crowds roared, servants rushed around with water pitchers and flowers, but Wanda could only see Natasha, wearing the Sokovian colors and wielding a new shield, the spider crest replaced by the Maximoff sigil, two dragons intertwined in infinite battle, three stars above the serpents' heads. 

 

Wanda and Pietro had fought over which dragon they were, as children. 

 

Wanda no longer dreamed of being a dragon. She was the witch-queen of Sokovia, ruling with a gentle, truth-seeking hand. 

 

Nat could be the dragon, if she wished.

 

The crowds went quiet, and Wanda smiled as Nat bent down to help her opponent up. She'd sent the knight flying on his back in seconds, and now she turned to Wanda's box, holding up her shield.

 

Wanda smiled, lifting a rose before her and letting it fall from her fingers. 

 

A sudden breeze picked up, smelling of salt and bittersweet against her tongue. It plucked up the rose just before it hit the dirt, wafting it towards Nat. 

 

The knight grabbed the flower from the air, an open-mouthed smile on her face that gave Wanda emotions she didn't know existed. 

 

The two women smiled at each other, wind tugging at memories until they all overlapped, forests becoming rivers becoming pink seas. 

 

And Wanda knew they were going to be okay.

 

✶      ✶      ✶

 

Afterward, Wanda and Nat walked in the garden together. 

 

Wanda still wasn't used to a blue-gold sky above her, after a week of rose-pink saturated her world in veils of amethyst. 

 

"Apparently, Peter has a crush on your new handmaiden," Nat said, breaking the comfortable silence. 

 

Wanda laughed softly. "Liz? She'll break his heart within a week." 

 

"He'd call it a privilege," Nat replied, meeting Wanda's gaze, something strange in her ocean eyes. 

 

Wanda looked away, and they kept walking. She just wanted to kiss her champion, the way they'd caught the Wakandan princess (Peter had friends in high places) kissing her betrothed. Peter was proud to say he'd set the two girls up together. Michelle had smacked him, sending him scurrying to Thor, the Vongastan accompanied by a sullen, dark-haired man that Wanda assumed was the brother he had mentioned, weeks ago.

 

Nat stopped at the hedged entrance to a private fountain area, the small circle of grass surrounded by tall rose bushes. 

 

The flowers' scent filled the air, reminding Wanda of the strange breeze that had wafted her red rose to Nat earlier. 

 

"Do you still have magic?" she asked, glancing at her champion through her lashes. Nat sat down on the grass, and Wanda followed, spreading her skirts beneath her. They no longer felt the need to dance around awkward topics, but Wanda's skin still prickled with the irrational fear that Nat would get angry at her question. 

 

Nat was silent for a moment, the sound of young birds singing and the rustle of leaves shaken by wind filling Wanda's ears. 

 

"No," Natasha said at last. "When Tiamat brought me back, she didn't ask for anything in return. But I had something to give." She looked down at her hands, the skin that had once glowed with power. 

 

"My father would take and take. It was time to give, instead." 

 

Wanda nodded. "I feel like... like this is the end of something," Wanda admitted, fidgeting with the braided bracelet around her wrist, made of a very special red fabric.

 

"No, little one. It's just the beginning," Natasha said. "Ready for our next adventure?"

 

Wanda grinned. "As I'll ever be." 

 

Her voice was confident, but her breath caught as her champion rose to her knees, cupping Wanda's cheeks between her hands. 

 

"Good," Nat murmured, breath ghosting across Wanda's lips. "Because this is the best one yet." She brought her mouth to Wanda's and they kissed beneath the blue sky, hearts intertwined.

 

There were galaxies at Wanda's fingertips, but she did not want them. 

 

All she wanted was the woman in her arms, the warrior who'd soothed her aching heart, who'd torn her apart to build her stronger. 

 

She didn't  _ need  _ Natasha, her champion wasn't the air she breathed or the sunlight on her face. 

 

But she wanted her, more than she had wanted anything. 

 

They were both utterly, brokenly human. Just two sparks, flickering against the night sky.

 

Wanda had never tasted a more beautiful kiss. 

 

 

 

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr : [oscula-sucre](https://oscula-sucre.tumblr.com/)


End file.
